The Tower
by Heath Wingwhit
Summary: Bethany is taken to the Gallows where she must contend with Knight-Commander Meredith's and First Enchanter Orsino's political games. Eventual Bethany x Meredith.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Back by popular demand! I took this down ages ago but a few people have asked for it back and so here it is. This initially started as a suggestion I thought would never work (I believe by masamuneblade?) and then spiraled into this madness. It ended up being one of my more popular stories and I had a lot of fun with it. I've tried to clean it up a little in the meanwhile. Merethany! It takes some build- your patience is appreciated. Thanks for reading! Thanks to the awesome T.A.M. for proofing!

* * *

Cullen doesn't bind Bethany's hands. There's no use in treating her with indignity. She goes with him and the other templars without a fight. It is rare for apostates loosed for so long to act with such… civility. Even the sister Hawke hadn't taken his head. She may well have tried if not for Bethany's interference. He thanks the Maker for small mercies. Most apostate captures aren't had without some spilling of blood.

Cullen watches Bethany carefully. She is young and tempered. She doesn't give him speeches of the freedom she feels she deserves. Her eyes are beyond her years. Along with her sister, Bethany has done some good work to help the templars with some minor issues in the past. He will look past her family harboring her. It's only natural and he is not entirely unmoved by the plight of mages families. It's simply that he knows better than to trust young, pretty and seemingly naïve faces. Bethany's face is hopeful and innocent—atypical of someone with her experiences.

"You've been here before," he tells her as they walk into the Gallows. He sees her drink in the walls, her new confines, her new home, a prison. He can admit it, even if it isn't the word he'd use to describe it to impressionable new templar recruits. There's no use in stoking misguided sympathy.

"I have." Bethany says looking all around her. "I can't say I ever hoped to live here." She waits a beat and then speaks quietly. "I had thought it might be easier for everyone involved."

"It will be." He says. "There are some heretics who run around with tales of propaganda about the role of the templars and the chantry and what we do to innocent mages. I assure you, the rumors are exaggerated. We only have everyone's best interests at heart. Knight-Commander Meredith works tirelessly to ensure everyone's safety. It is a thankless, exhausting post to hold but she does so and she does it well." Cullen sees that Bethany is focused on the statues of the slaves.

"Sorry," Bethany looks from the slave statues to him. "All the cheerful imagery distracted me from your welcoming speech."

Cullen frowns. It appears her sister is not the only one with a smart mouth. He's ready to reassure her (or reeducate her as it may be) when Knight-Commander Meredith strides up to them with her usual determination. She stops straight in front of him before settling her fierce blue eyes on Bethany. Bethany looks straight at her and then away.

"Knight-Commander," Cullen salutes Meredith. "This is… Bethany Hawke. She is the newest apprentice of the Circle."

"A bit old for an apprentice, isn't she?" Meredith studies Bethany's face.

"A refugee Fereldan," Cullen says, drawing Meredith's attention back to him. Cullen knows how Meredith dislikes Fereldans being a native to Kirkwall herself. Cullen can't say that he cares for the lax nature of the Magic Circle there. He is glad to have been transferred to Kirkwall. "She came willingly and without resistance. She is no blood mage."

"Not that we know of." Meredith continues to appraise the young woman. "Not many apostates give up their so called freedom to join Circle life. Only here, however, will you learn the necessary skills to control that…sickness that fills you. You will no longer be a danger to yourself or society at large."

"Thank you," Bethany says tightly.

"So, you have a bit of fire and resistance to you yet. You're easily fooled, Cullen, to think that she was cowed already. Keep an eye on her. And arrange for her Harrowing immediately. There's no sense in letting the others form any attachments if she is meant to be tranquil."

Cullen nods and salutes. He sees Bethany stiffen fearfully. "It will be arranged, Knight-Commander." Meredith bows her head to him and gives Bethany no further notice before continuing on her way. "Do not fear the Harrowing. If you are not susceptible to a demon your fear is baseless."

"Doesn't the chantry and the templar order claim that all mages are susceptible to demons?" Bethany asks crossing her arms. She sighs and lets them fall at her sides. "What does it matter? I have no choice. If a Harrowing is failed I become an abomination and the templars kill me. Or if you're in some kind of mood or don't like the look of me I'm forced to become tranquil. I'd rather die."

Cullen laughs awkwardly. "I wouldn't speak such words lightly if I were you. I have given you better treatment than most apostates receive and deserve. Now we're here and I don't find that I like your attitude."

"I've lost my freedom. I may soon lose my life." Bethany shrugs. "Sorry. I don't much feel like being a cheerful poster child for apostates everywhere just now." Cullen stares at her and she stares at the ground. She apologizes once more, this time more sincerely. "You were kind to my family. It's just so hard to bear the thought that I'll never see them again. I'm sorry. It's a lot to take in."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

Cullen is quiet. The other templars that have been with them stand around and await orders. He dismisses them. "You'll be at peace here with others like you. You'll no longer have to hide. In time, you'll find it a blessing. Don't take my word for it. You'll find out on your own. Now come this way. I'll show you to your quarters."

* * *

The templars keep a keen eye on the men and women of the Circle. It is as Anders said. The Circle in Ferelden is more fun. These thoughts aren't what occupy Bethany, however. It takes her some time to even note this. It's only when she listens to the complaints of the other apprentices during meals that she takes notice. She isn't surprised. It's not as if she ever expected to find love in the Circle. From what she's heard it's often discouraged. She sighs.

She has a small twin bed in a rectangular cell of a room. The walls are made of cold stones stacked atop of each other. It looks like a prison, she wagers, because it once was. From what Anders told her, the space in the Circle in Ferelden is more open, near encouraging mingling and other…diversions. It is new to be with others like her, openly, without fear. Sure, the templars are vigilant and will cheerfully run any apprentice through with any hint of rebellion in their eyes—but at least the worst of it is over; they know who she is. There is no longer any running. She is appreciative of this. At first.

In the beginning, after some grief has given way, Bethany is able to reflect on the superficial things she can be grateful for. She no longer has her family but she has a much nicer room, prison cell or no, than she had when she lived with Uncle Gamlen. There is no need to add further stress to her sister and mother. For once, she can say with conviction, her blasted magic will rightfully be used in the service of the Maker. That's what's right, isn't it? "That's what's right," she tells herself softly.

Aside from these small mercies, she has her own ramshackle of a bookshelf and the apprentice who inhabited the room previously (Cullen has assured her that the girl is now a Circle mage and not someone who has been disposed of) has left a sizable collection of books. She is encouraged to study magic and can do so in view of others. There aren't any books on blood magic and she's grateful for it. Unlike Merrill, she isn't so foolish as to dabble in those dark arts. She never wanted magic to begin with; what's the use in invoking things she knows she doesn't want and could never control?

There is a sharp knock on the curved wooden door of her room and Bethany rises from her desk chair to answer it. It is Cullen. "It's time for your Harrowing," he says. "The other Circle mages are ready, as are the templars. Now we only wait on you."

Bethany doesn't know what to say. Her throat has gone dry. So much for all that fanciful thinking. "It wasn't to be until next week."

"Given your…special circumstances and your age, the Knight-Commander does not wish to prolong this any longer. Grab your staff. I'll escort you."

Bethany takes her time in grabbing the staff that leans against the wall. She doesn't know why she moves so slowly. At most she's only buying herself seconds. "You're a Knight-Captain. I thought you'd have more pressing matters than escorting apprentices to Harrowings."

Cullen's lips nearly twitch into an agreeing smile. "You and I would both be mistaken."

* * *

The Fade. What a strange place. It's like her world has been shadowed in veils. Her vision is funny here. She looks around and does not like what she sees. Her world but emptied of all others. There is the sound like that of air blowing through a vacuous space. Everything feels so far away.

She starts to move. The First Enchanter Orsino told her, without any attachment or expectation, that it is her job to enter the Fade and then to return. It sounded too simple. He didn't look at her as he said it. Hawke always said the first mark of a liar, or someone withholding truth, is their inability to look you in the eye. Anders told her about the Harrowing. The mages of the Circle summon a demon and it is her job to resist it. It sounds simple enough in theory but if it were so, then why do so many apprentices fear it? Why do others become tranquil? She'll have to be careful.

She moves through a barren landscape, a city of concrete with no one in it. What is she looking for? What if she doesn't find it in time? Why was the Knight-Commander so insistent? It isn't as if she's ever had any interest in blood magic. Then again, how many blood mages has she fought that uttered those same words? "Wherever you are, Demon, just come out now. I will not fall to your clever tricks." She waits for something to happen. Nothing does.

She walks further. For hours. How long has she been here? Does time flow differently in this space? She ought to know. She does know. Her thoughts are foggy. She closes her eyes and when she opens them she's in Lothering. She no longer wears her apprentice robes. She's in what she used to wear. She looks down at her brown leather boots and sees the grey pants. "This is a trick." She says. She hadn't been wearing that, had she? No one responds. It makes her feel mad. Is that the point?

How can she be in Lothering? It was destroyed. She walks through and observes everything as it was. The last time she'd been in Lothering it was in flames being overrun by Darkspawn. Here there are only familiar faces, cattle, the smell of dry summer grass. Overhead the sky is cloudy, the air is warm. She hears her name called and whips her head to the side. No one pays attention to her. There is no one remarkable. Someone pulls at her hair and she frantically turns around to see… Her eyes widen.

"Hello there, Sister."

The air tears from Bethany's lungs. Her legs go weak and she falls. Carver stretches a hand out to her. "Got you good, didn't I? You were always jumping at shadows."

"You're…" She looks at his hand, large and strong, muscled, the veins are so sharp and clear that she swears she can see the blood that courses through them. She looks up at his face, now irritated and drawing his hand back.

"Fine, don't take it. Don't say I never try to help. When will anyone in this family ever appreciate me? I work hard too, you know. I've always looked after you, haven't I? This is the thanks I get. Figures."

Bethany continues to stare up at him, slack jawed. "This can't be. This can't be happening. What foul magic is this?" She looks around suspiciously. "I saw you die." She whimpers. "I saw that thing—Oh Maker, Carver." She covers her mouth with his hand.

"What are you going on about? Come here," he takes her hand and yanks her to her feet. Their bodies collide and there is nothing about him that feels like a phantasm. This must be a trick. It must be a trick. She stares up at him and sees his every pore, that deeply etched line in his forehead from all the times he's frowned at her weakness or Hawke's antics. "Do I feel like a corpse to you?"

"No," she says shakily. "You're warm." She looks up at the sky. Rain is starting to fall. It's not cold as she expected. It is the temperature of tears. She wipes at her face sure that she is crying but she can't tell if she is. "This can't be real."

"Sure it is. Look, I saw you leave the chantry just now. You were listening to one of Leliana's stories until one of the templars walked in and you ducked out the way you always do." He crosses his arms. "Don't keep looking at me like that. I'm beginning to think you're funny in the head, Sister."

"Where's Mother?"

"At home cooking dinner. Father's out with our esteemed older sister." He sighs. "Anyway, it's starting to get dark. Let's go home. I don't want Mother and Father on my ass because you're not in the mood to come home." Carver starts to walk back to their home and stops to look back at her. "Aren't you coming?"

Bethany looks around frightfully. Her heart beats desperately in her chest. Nothing looks funny as it did before. It looks like any other day in Lothering. Black birds squawk overhead. They have always been annoying. The colors of the previously grey sky are vibrant in oranges, reds, streaks of purples. She can feel the heat of the sun on her skin. Dreams are not so real, magic is not so nefarious.

"Bethany, what is it?" Carver's impatience is showing. He looks around. "I don't see any templars," he says under his breath. He reaches a hand out to her and she lets him take hers. His fingers wrap around her hand and he pulls her close. He smiles. "It's just like you to always make me worry. Let's go home. Let's forget everything."

"Isn't there a war?" The thought strikes her. Shouldn't he be at war? Shouldn't her sister?

"A war in Ferelden?" Carver laughs. "Wouldn't that make for some excitement? I almost wish there were. That'd lend some room for me to really show my stuff instead of the constant babysitting I have to do," he pulls her behind him. "Just imagine what I could be, Bethany if we weren't always here. If we weren't always running. If you weren't an apostate. Life could be so grand."

Bethany looks at his broad shoulders and up at the sky. All the colors have run together, bleeding red. The rain that falls lands on Carver's shirt, spotting it crimson. He looks back at her, his face streaked with blood. "What is it? You're pale." His voice is changing, deepening. "Don't you want to stay with your brother? Don't you want me back?"

She rips her hand away. It comes free sticky and wet with blood. She gasps and huffs for breath. Everyone else that had been present is gone now. Everything is stained. She sees a woman next to Carver now, half naked but beautiful and seductive, horns stemming from her head. The demon touches her own breasts. "Isn't this what you've wanted so desperately, Bethany? I can give you your family. I can give you your freedom. I can give you all that you've ever wanted. You've never even experienced the touch of a lover and now you're castrated and confined…"

"This isn't real," Bethany says, "I knew it wasn't real." Anguish fills her. She looks at Carver who still smiles at her throughout all the blood. "You're really gone," she says to him.

"He doesn't have to be." The demon says.

"Stay here, Bethany." Carver says. In the distance Bethany can see her father approaching. She covers her face with her hands.

"Yes. Stay, Bethany." The demon says. "I'll live in the Circle and you can stay here. You'll have your family. You'll have the life you've always wanted."

"It won't be real."

"It will feel as real as anything. Isn't that all that matters?" The demon smiles and glides closer to Bethany. She trails a sharp nail along Bethany's face. "Or you could let him die again." They both look towards Carver.

"Don't let me die again, Bethany," Carver says, his eyes wide with worry.

"Don't let him go. You couldn't stop his death before. You can stop it now." The demon slides behind Bethany, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nestling her face against the crook of her neck. "Just give me your body. It's about time you gave it to someone."

"No," Bethany whispers.

"Don't let me go, Bethany," Carver says again, "I didn't get to live. I always had to watch over you and I didn't get to live."

"Let him live, Bethany," the demon whispers in her ear, "give yourself to me."

Bethany shouts. In an instant Carver is blasted back. Bethany stares at his lifeless body just as it was when he'd been crushed by the ogre. She screams and goes to him, pulling at his shirt trying to lift him. His head lolls from side to side until she releases his bloody frame. He's gone. She turns her furious gaze towards the demon who no longer smiles.

"Stupid girl. I could have given you a fantasy. Now I'll just take what I want."

Bethany lifts her staff and summons all of her will. Everything that had been drenched in blood is engulfed in blinding light. Then everything is black.

* * *

Knight-Commander Meredith sits in her office reviewing the intelligence she receives. She has eyes and ears everywhere and she is grateful. Her position is a grave undertaking and she must be ever watchful. Mages are everywhere, hiding in every crack like ants or rodents. It's true that they can't help what they are but that alone does not make them anything other than vermin, spreading their heretical disease wherever they go.

Oh. Things weren't always this way. Meredith considers Amelia. She can't help but do that. She holds her dearly departed sister to her heart and thinks, as she always does, that if she had only been stronger, if her family had been wiser, then perhaps they would all still be with her, they and those other seventy-seven souls that were needlessly taken.

There is a mage in Darktown that she must keep watch of. He will be trouble. She will have to speak to a templar about the situation but who can she trust? She's heard the rumors of those blood mages who had taken some of her very own members of the order, only to infect them and work their corruption from within. She thinks of the First Enchanter and her fists ball with frustration.

The Maker does not give more than one can bear but sometimes he asks and gives too much. She brings a hand to her forehead, allowing a moment to feel the heavy weight of the exhaustion she carries. A moment later she shrugs it away. There's a knock at the door. "Enter." She says without looking up.

Cullen comes into her office and salutes her. "The apprentice Bethany Hawke has awakened."

"It's been a week since her Harrowing," Meredith says. She has kept her eye on the situation with Bethany Hawke. Her older sister has been making a good deal of trouble in Kirkwall. Meredith wants to make sure that trouble making doesn't run in the blood of the Hawke family. If the records on their father Malcolm are to be believed, it surely does.

"Yes. As you may know the Hawke family has dealt with a great deal of loss fairly recently. They fled Lothering during the Blight. Bethany lost her father and twin brother. I understand her Harrowing was particularly…difficult."

"So it is your opinion that she has overcome her unfortunate circumstances and she is free of the demon?"

"She passed her Harrowing," he says firmly.

Meredith puts down the stack of papers she looks through. She places her hands on her desk and stands. "I'll have to trust your judgment. You of all people know what happens when our templars are lax in their honored duty."

"I'll make sure that the safety of our templars _and _the mages is never jeopardized again," Cullen bows his head, "Knight-Commander."

Meredith senses his irritation. "Are you expecting me to praise you for doing your _job_? I'm grateful for you, Cullen. You know the importance of our duty more than any of the others. I'll expect your good influence and sound judgment as we move forward through these difficult times. Blood mages lurk in every corner, don't ever think otherwise. Don't be fooled by young, pretty faces. I've heard of you, Cullen. I thought it may have been in poor taste to bring it up before but given the new Circle mage I think it warrants discussion. Watch yourself. Do not lower your guard around her."

Cullen's jaw stiffens. He frowns but bows his head. "Yes, Knight-Commander."

* * *

She was a sweating, heaping mess. Four templars had been at her bedside, their swords at the ready. Having awakened in the real world was a relief and a crushing blow. Bethany's family was lost to her once again. More than ever she felt the guilt for Carver's death weighing upon her. Perhaps seeing the templars was enough to terrify her into passing out again. She dreamt of her family. She dreamt of beautiful and terrible things. She was restless. Her feelings not withstanding, when she awoke again, she did so to several cheerful apprentices who gave her the good news that she had passed her Harrowing. There were new, near frightful blue robes to match it. She looked at them regretfully before slipping them on. They are too heavy and hot for the climate. The belts are a little on the ridiculous side.

Despite the garbs, she breathes easier now. The Harrowing had to be the most frightening thing, right? And since she'd passed it she no longer had to worry about any rites of tranquility. At least, that's the theory. She takes to studying books. There's little else she can do. She consumes them and practices magic, still feeling the familiar prick of guilt as she does so. It's hard to undo twenty years of worry in weeks. She is not yet allowed to write to her family. Asking Cullen to pass word to them has been an act of futility. He seemed kind before. Recently he has become stubborn and cold.

She is brought to the Templar Hall not long after. Any joy she derived of being away from the stone walls of her home quickly vanquishes. The Templar Hall is a place as frightening as any. The heavy gold statues of horrified slaves mounted on the wall chill her. Above her there is only black grating marring every inch of the sky that she can possibly see. A helmeted templar points her to the room on the left.

A tall, reed thin elf stands there. He has delicate features but looks willful. Bethany steps into the office and the elf turns to the templar. "I assure you, a new Circle mage and the First Enchanter wouldn't be so foolish as to cause trouble in the Templar Hall. Much less across from Meredith's own study. Leave us." The templar leaves but not before warning them about who is really in charge. Orsino grunts. "No matter how they boast of our freedoms they're always eager to tell us that we're leashed."

Bethany thinks of how Isabela would make a joke. "It's true, isn't it?" Orsino grunts again. Bethany looks at his magic staff. Black and sleek with the faces of three snakes ominously lashing out. "I was told you wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes, of course. Have a seat." Orsino says. Bethany looks between the two equally uncomfortable looking chairs and takes a seat on the left one. The brown leather chair is as uncomfortable as it looks. "My understanding is that you're a Hawke. Your father was Malcolm, an extremely talented Circle mage here and your cousin, Daylen Amell, he was the Hero of Ferelden. Your sister, Hawke, is making a reputation for herself. The Deep Roads expedition went well. We heard of that, even here. She's reclaimed the Amell estate." When Bethany fidgets in the seat, Orsino stops. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Bethany smiles awkwardly. Orsino has just recited a lengthy list of family accomplishments. Bethany can only think of how alienated she is from them, how she will never be able to live up to them. "I don't see what any of that has to do with me." Besides the obvious, anyway.

Orsino sits at the edge of the desk, his fingers poised to make a point. "You have been a free mage for the majority of your life. Malcolm was gifted—am I right in thinking he taught you, taught you freely what you could have only learned in the Circle?" Bethany nods and Orsino continues, excitedly. "We could use someone like you on our side. A so-called apostate that willingly joined the Circle, related by blood to the Hero of Ferelden! If there is any hope for mages anywhere it's in having someone like you as its icon. And if Hawke stays out of trouble and keeps doing her part, all the better."

"So you want…what? A trophy?"

"Forgive me if that's what I've implied. Nothing could be further from the truth. You, Bethany, could be a symbol. Your intolerance of blood magic, your associations, your gifts! I would like for you to continue studying magic, freely, as you ought to. But you'll be moved to finer accommodations. I've spoken to some of the others. They consider you to be a fine candidate to be an enchanter."

Bethany blinks. An enchanter? Her? "I've only just arrived at the Circle. I've only just passed my Harrowing. The templars always look so keenly at me."

"Yes, so why not elevate you to enchanter? You could teach the new apprentices, you are a skilled mage, Bethany! Let the templars watch you! They'll watch you nonetheless but this could be a great opportunity for you and the Circle and those children that come here. I've seen you amongst the other mages, Bethany, you're well liked. You're attractive and kind. You're the best kind of face to present to the public when they think of mages. Not me, not an elf."

"You're the First Enchanter how could—"

Orsino laughs dryly. "I may be First Enchanter but I'm still an elf, and a mage on top of that. The power I hold here is nil, as much as we all may like to pretend otherwise." He looks at her steadily. His eyes are the same color as Merrill's, Bethany thinks. "The Circle needs strong, able enchanters, Bethany. You have overcome your Harrowing and so many other obstacles that would turn any other mage to the dark arts. I am asking for your help. Will you grant me and all other mages this favor?"

Bethany stands. She's heard much of Orsino in the past and of his oft made passionate speeches in the Gallows but this is her first real interaction with him. The man is indeed blessed with a silver tongue. "I will."

"Good. I'll have the arrangements made right away." Orsino takes Bethany's hand. "Just one more thing. The Knight-Commander distrusts all mages, as you may well know. I'm of the mind…" He lowers his voice, "I'm of the mind that she isn't in hers lately. Once you become an enchanter she'll pay close attention to you. You're used to it from the templars but she's another matter entirely. Meredith sometimes sees things that simply aren't there."

Bethany frowns lightly. "She's the Knight-Commander. It's her duty to watch for any traces of… She was promoted by Grand Cleric Elthina," yes, the Circle had made sure she learned that piece of information well. "We have nothing to fear," she says instead, "if we are truly innocent as we say."

"Yes. Yes, you're right, of course." Orsino sounds dismayed. He returns to the chair behind his desk and sits thoughtfully.

Bethany looks at him for a moment. He seems small and strained. She exits Orsino's office only to come face to face with Knight-Commander Meredith. The woman is a tower of steel; her blue eyes are harder and colder than any metal that could protect her. Bethany stares.

"Conferring with Orsino," Meredith says, her voice pretending at something pleasant but failing. "A high honor for a former apostate who's only just been inducted into the Circle." Bethany squirms under her penetrating gaze. Having the woman look at her with such scrutiny makes her feel as if there are pins being forced under her nails. She meets Meredith's eyes and looks away again. "Is there a reason you can't meet my eyes, Girl? Have you been conspiring with the First Enchanter?"

Bethany isn't sure whether she ought to laugh. The idea is ludicrous. She looks at Meredith to see if she might be joking. There is no trace of humor on her face. "The First Enchanter has asked that I help teach the apprentices. I thought it was too soon given … everything but he made a convincing argument." Meredith's eyes are hot upon her. Bethany touches a hand to her shoulder to lift the robe further up. "I know that you dislike mages but we're not all the same."

"You all do say that, however."

Her face flushes. "I never wanted this. I'm sure you've heard that too. I abhor blood magic. It's terrifying. I will never invoke it. Not ever. You don't have to believe me. I'm in the Circle now and there are templars everywhere watching my every move."

"Do not think we take such steps lightly, we do not do for want of entertainment or lack of other matters to attend to. It is our duty to the Order, to you mages, to Kirkwall and to the Maker Himself. At long last you've joined the Circle. Your abilities will rightfully be in the service of the Maker as they ought to have been for the entirety of your life."

"Yes, Knight-Commander," Bethany says bowing her head. "Thank you." Thank you for not cutting her down on the spot as Bethany suspects that Meredith much wants to do so. Thank you for not gutting her family like pigs for sheltering her as they had in the past. "For what it's worth, I do think the Circle is necessary. Blood mages are dangerous." Her smile falters. "And many apostates are in danger of becoming blood mages. I know that everyone wants to do the right thing. We can work together; I've met so many wonderful people here, other novice apprentices, mages and many good templars."

"We are all good templars," Meredith corrects her, "with the exception of those too weak and easily manipulated to do their jobs." Bethany nods in quick apology and Meredith allows a small smile. "Still, if you are to be believed you would be a fine example for all those runaway mages of the Circle, those fools, who sway the minds of templars by Maker knows what means to aid their escape and destroy their phylacteries. If you…" She says taking hold of Bethany's chin, "could come here and appreciate it for what it's meant to be: a haven for the neglected and downtrodden of society, a guiding place for those who are lost… then imagine how many lives could be saved. Mages won't lose themselves to their madness and go on a rampage. Do you know how many of them go on rampages? It doesn't matter how much they claim to love those close to them, as soon as you're an abomination you are yourself no longer. You must be cut down." Bethany flicks her eyes to her and Meredith releases her. "Keep your good senses about you, Bethany Hawke and mind the company you keep. The Templar Order is always vigilant even if you mages are not." She nods at one of the templars. "Take her back to her room."

The masked templar prods at Bethany's back with the hilt of his sword and Bethany gets moving, away from the stone walls, away from the barred ceilings. She looks back at Meredith who watches as she's escorted away. Knight-Commander Meredith is taller, stronger and more fortified than any prison.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey people! Thanks for the kind reviews. Crap, I thought I'd thrown this all up. Instead I've been sitting on this for months. Whoops. I'll try to update this more regularly. It's sitting on my computer so there really is no reason for more regular updates. To those who are enjoying this story (or previously did) many thanks! I do love me some Meredith and Bethany. Merethany!

* * *

Bethany is allowed limited freedom. The templars no longer follow after her like blood hounds. The clanking of their footsteps is no longer synonymous with hers. Their stares, unreadable and veiled behind hard armor follow her every movement. Some of the Circle mages suggest that the templars watch so closely because she's attractive. "If that's the real reason I'd rather be plain," she says. It tires her.

Teaching is a surprising pleasure. Newly arrived apprentices, some very young children are brought to her classes. She pities them. She was given what they were not: real freedom, a real life, a chance to know her family. What will these young boys and girls do? They will have a ledger with the names of their families upon them and soon the faces they know will vanish altogether. She wipes tears from many faces and places handkerchiefs in the small hands of her students who blow their noses loudly, hiccupping and crying for their families. "It will all turn out," she tells them, stroking their hair, "you wait and see." But she doesn't know that that's true. She does know that the words tend to reassure them. Isn't that all that should matter for the time being? They're so young and scared. She tells them how brave they are. Would she have been brave like them if she'd been brought as a child? She isn't sure. Where is strength gathered from? Would hers have come from some inner core or is it only something that she gained from her family?

Whatever her doubts they do not manifest in her expressions; both templars and other mages comment on her sunny nature. The students come to their lessons eagerly and Bethany is happy to teach them. Perhaps the Circle isn't the menace everyone had led her to believe the entirety of her life.

* * *

Ser Alrik frightens her. His eyes are sharp and cold as a blade. He watches her too closely. Sometimes he comes into the classroom and observes her with the pupils, his eyes straying too long on the girls and far too long on her. He makes no motion to hide where his lecherous gaze lies knowing too well that Bethany, a new enchanter, can do little about it. Most of the templars are good men and women. Bethany repeats the words to herself whenever this occurs. Most of the templars are…

The students filter out of the classroom, save for Ella who engages her in conversation regarding the lesson for the day. She's prone to staying after class to speak to her over the material. Bethany suspects she has a crush. After Ella departs, Alrik lingers behind, hanging about Bethany's desk as she gathers her materials. His eyes undress her. It gives her much the same feeling that bugs crawling on her skin on muggy days does. She avoids his eyes and throws a casual, polite glance in his direction. She doesn't know what to say to him. She doesn't know what he wants from her, though she has some ideas, none that she wants to indulge.

He takes the initiative when she doesn't speak. "Apostates aren't often promoted to enchanters so early on. Especially for one so young."

"I may be young but I can't be an apostate and an enchanter all in one, can I?" Isn't that the point of being in the Circle? That you _can't _be an apostate? There are some templars that she feels she could tease about this; he is not one of them. His eyes have grown chillier still. His smile nearly freezes her. "Anyway," she says, all her belongings in her arms, "I'll be going now."

He takes her upper arm, his fingers squeezing tightly. Bethany looks from his hand, to his bald, dry looking head to his face. He steps closer to her, his voice low. "We once had a Malcolm Hawke here. A runaway apostate. Your father. We do not tolerate troublemakers."

What she says next is foolish. She should have nodded and agreed. Those are the rules around the templars if you're a mage. Nod and agree, as if you were tranquil. "We're far more scared of you than you could possibly be of us."

Ser Alrik's fingers squeeze even more tightly. Bethany doesn't make a face though she's sure she's going to bruise. "That's what makes you dangerous."

"Are you done?" she asks quietly, looking away from him.

He releases her and she goes, slow at first and then quickly.

She returns to her room and forces her heart to stop pounding. She shakes at her hands as if to cast any fear away. She takes a seat and writes to her sister.

_Dear Hawke,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. My time in the Circle has been bearable, even after the templars made a point of putting me through the Harrowing as soon as I arrived. They thought I was at risk of possession or running away like Father. Glad it's over with._

_I've started mentoring apprentices. I enjoy time with the children, teaching them basic spells. One of them, Ella, has taken a shine to me. Adorable!_

_Life's not perfect here, mind you. The templars are mostly polite, and I know they're just doing their jobs, but some hold extreme views. There's one creep named Ser Alrik who likes harassing mages, but I'll steer clear of him!_

_I'm doing fine! Please don't worry about me._

_With love,  
Bethany_

It's strange how she has to downplay everything, how she has to protect her older sister the way she failed to protect her. No, it isn't fair. What might have happened if she'd gone to the Deep Roads? She thinks of it every day. Would she be safe? Would she have her family? Would it be better than this? Maybe she's only ungrateful.

* * *

The Chant of Light always soothes her. Though the small chapel in the Circle lacks the grandeur of The Chantry in Hightown, Meredith appreciates the serenity of the small, enclosed space. It's low lit and intimate with only six pews, three to each side of the aisle. Both templars and mages worship the Maker together here. Meredith watches the tranquil mages light the Eternal Flame. She nods to them as they pass her.

There are two young mages sitting together, speaking softly. Their heads are too close together. It's inappropriate. They take a surreptitious glance around and spot her. They slide further apart and she stares to the statue offside of Archon Hessarian and his sword of mercy. Meredith thinks that if only the populace of Kirkwall were more studious and took it upon themselves to open their hearts and minds to the Maker they would understand that the templar order is there to serve them, to serve the Maker, to serve the mages. Hessarian may have pierced Andraste's heart with his sword but his cut was merciful; he was the one to become her champion later on and praise her name. Still, rogue mages are on the rise and there is a small rebellion that is rising to help them on their dangerous path.

Maker grant them wisdom, Maker grant them strength to know wrong from right. She bows her head and recites the Chant of Light softly. From the corner of her eye she spots the two mages of before leave and the young, new enchanter move forward. She sits on a front bench, her hands resting demurely in her lap.

Bethany Hawke has only been an enchanter for months but she has performed her duties admirably. There are no liberal leanings in her teachings or advocating of radical ideas. She teaches the material as she ought to. Meredith thinks, with some satisfaction, that Orsino must be disappointed in her—no doubt he had wanted to use Bethany's charm to plant ideas in the younger students. Bethany, however, appears to have her own ideas. She seems wise. She doesn't mope as other mages do, she doesn't scream and bang at walls as other captured apostates have. Yes. Bethany Hawke is better than most.

Meredith meditates on her thoughts for some time longer and stands as Bethany walks past her. The enchanter stops and greets her, bowing her head. "Are you a follower of Andraste and the Maker?" Meredith asks. "It's rare to see enchanters here. The younger mages often come to find some peace and quiet," she smiles wryly, "it doesn't have the bustle of the library and offers more privacy." Meredith sees Bethany smile genuinely around her for the first time. Has Meredith's comment amused her?

"You're right, it doesn't. I enjoy this space. It's comforting. I imagine that's strange."

"Why strange? The Maker watches for all of his children. You _should_ feel comforted here. Safe."

"The Maker's rules makes life difficult for my kind." Bethany looks to the statue of Andraste. "I want to understand. I never knew if I believed in the Maker before. I think I do now." She looks at Meredith. "Everything here is so different than I ever imagined. It isn't… There are many good people here who believe in a great deal of good things. The Maker can bring us together in belief if nothing else. That's something. That's a start."

How surprising. "You have wisdom beyond your years." She has a belief that most mages don't. "Yes. That is what we all ought to strive for. Unity. If a former apostate can understand that then there truly is hope." The light of the Eternal Flame is flattering to Bethany's features. Meredith notes this and then immediately dismisses it. "Both mages and templars alike speak highly of you. You've quickly become a favorite enchanter here."

Bethany laughs softly, tucking an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Really? I'm glad to hear it. I was nervous at first. I don't quite have the passionate lectures of Orsino but I hope I can inspire some desire to learn… and alleviate some of the concerns of the younger apprentices. They miss their families so."

"As their families miss them. It is a difficult task but we are bound by duty to do what's hard for the good of everybody. You have the good sense to understand. Other enchanters here," she says thinking of Orsino, "let their zeal dictate their actions. Sometimes the more immediate kindness only gives way to future misfortune."

"I will strive to do what's best for the students. They will come to the Maker on their own. Discovering Him willingly, being guided to the chapel by Him will work more so than simple instruction." She drops her eyes guiltily.

"Lift your eyes, Bethany Hawke. Your thoughts are wise." Meredith nods at her. "Do not be so skittish." The woman is skittish although they no longer follow her so closely. "Do the templars still frighten you so?"

"No. Well. Not all of them."

"There are a few bad apples everywhere. The order does not tolerate any indecent behavior or abuse. When we become aware of it we act swiftly to stamp it out. It does not behoove us to sweep it under the rug. We exist to defend all of Kirkwall. That includes you." She nods at her and steps out into the aisle beside her. Meredith has dawdled longer than she intended. "I would like to continue our conversation but there are other matters to attend to. If you ever have concerns, know that the First Enchanter is not the only one you can speak to about them. My office is just across his, after all. Be well, Bethany Hawke."

"Same to you, Knight-Commander."

* * *

The first time that Bethany sees Grace she thinks she's only imagined her. Bethany remembers going to that cave with her sister in the Wounded Coast, summoned by Ser Thrask to convince the apostates in the cave to turn themselves in. Decimus had been mad and the entirety of the group had worked blood magic. The situation may have been desperate but they had not waited for any explanation; they had attacked them blindly, summoning the dead. Grace herself had requested that they kill Ser Thrask in order to allow their escape.

Blood mages. Bethany knows that they're not all like Merrill. And who knows what Merrill might do in time? It's always the desperation that does them in, isn't it, if they don't lose themselves to an abomination first. Bethany freezes in her steps when she catches Grace leaning against a pillar, her arms crossed and watching her with hateful eyes. The hair on the nape of her neck stands on end.

She knew that Ser Thrask had brought the mages here after Hawke had handed them over. This is her first time seeing the woman up close. Grace looks angry. Bethany nods to her. Grace turns her nose up, pushing away from the pillar and going on her way.

Bethany is chilled. It is no secret that Bethany is a former apostate and it is likely no secret that Grace is the same. Grace, however, has kept mostly to herself and shared her company only with Alain. If the templars were to find out that she's a blood mage they would kill her on the spot. It isn't what Bethany wants but she doesn't trust the woman.

She goes to the templar hall to find the First Enchanter. His door is closed but Meredith's is open. The two women spot one another and exchange smiles before Bethany nervously knocks on Orsino's door. A moment later it opens and Bethany enters. There's a letter on Orsino's desk. He quickly and delicately snatches it up, folding it in half and slipping it into a drawer before he takes a seat as Bethany does. Orsino folds his arms across the desk, a sort of excited energy radiating from him as he smiles to her. "Bethany! A pleasure as always. I wasn't expecting you to drop by. Is this a casual visit or is there some business to discuss?" He looks behind her to the door and doesn't wait for Bethany to respond before he shuts it.

Bethany shifts in the chair. Now that she's here she isn't sure how to broach the subject. "What's your opinion on blood mages?" she asks. He looks uncomfortable. Bethany changes her tactic. "Sorry. I know you condemn them, of course. I just…" She considers. "Templars kill any maleficarum. But surely some of the apostates that are captured and returned here must be blood mages. There's no way to…"

Orsino is raising a hand and shaking his head. "What has brought this on, Bethany? I assume you aren't speaking of yourself—"

"No! Of course not!" Her words bristle at the accusation. "But if there are blood mages in the Circle shouldn't it be known?"

He looks at her skeptically. "In theory, yes."

"In theory?"

Any good mood and excitement that Orsino had earlier has turned to ire and nerves. "In theory. We, the Circle and the templars work under the assumption that no blood mages occupy these halls. The templars already question our every move, our every glance—we don't want to encourage the idea that there might be blood mages hidden in our midst."

"But if there _are_—"

"If they were to suspect that mages could hide any involvement with blood magic they'd start making us all tranquil or cutting us down. Bethany, it's already so hard as it is. Where have you arrived at these ideas? When we first spoke, I was under the impression that you would be a champion for our cause—you sound more like… Meredith," he says making a face at the name.

"What are you saying? That we should hold our tongues?" She leans forward on the chair and taps the desk to stress her point. "First Enchanter, I mean no disrespect but I have battled blood mages before. I have battled many and I can assure you that not one of them had good intentions—none that lasted." Bethany's energy expires when she sees Orsino's frustrated expression. "It's dangerous."

"The most dangerous thing is to have templars jumping at shadows. I assume you have no names to offer me?" Orsino asks, "Who are these suspected blood mages?" Bethany is quiet. "If you told me I'd have to go to the templars and hand them over. It would be a death sentence. Is that the consequence you're looking for? Could you bear it if a mage died simply for existing?"

Bethany stands and then paces. "I don't know."

"I think you do know. Those who resort to blood magic do so when they're in a perilous situation. It's unlikely that they would be fool enough to practice here. And I would say…that if we do not see any of that…in the act, we can safely assume that it's been left behind in the past."

"That's a lot to assume. Don't most Circle runaways invoke blood magic to not have to return here? Wouldn't they use it again if it meant an escape?" Bethany asks. Orsino says nothing but Bethany knows that he is disappointed in her. She is equally disappointed in him. She doesn't know what it is that she expected from him. Maybe not to duck his head in the sand about it. "Aren't blood mages the reason that Circles exist? It doesn't suit us any more to allow it than it suits the templars."

"I will keep an eye on the situation," he says testily but he doesn't look at her as he says it.

* * *

Meredith walks through the dining hall, it is a large open space strewn with evenly lined rectangular tables. Many of the templars and mages keep to their own. This is not something that Meredith opposes or encourages—as long as everyone knows their place there is nothing wrong with fraternization. It is likely better that both the order and the organization learn the other group as people: that way mages know that there are good men and women in the order and the templars know which mages to trust and which to watch for.

The aroma of the meal that has been prepared today doesn't appeal to her. Her stomach flips in repulsion. She sees Bethany Hawke sitting at a far corner table. Ser Thrask sits opposite of her. Meredith narrows her eyes. Thrask is one of the more questionable templars. Meredith knows that he disapproves of her. He thinks her methods are too hard but her methods are only the methods of all other Knight-Commanders. She will not falter in her duties even if he thinks to falter in his but she hope he does not. By all accounts, Thrask is a good man, popular amongst templars and mages.

Thrask stands abruptly as she approaches the table. He salutes her. "Knight-Commander."

"As you were," she says. He can never quite meet her eyes. Meredith thinks he must have forgotten what he's doing. He waffles uncertainly, looking between Bethany and herself before bowing and moving on his way. Meredith looks at the plate of his half-eaten meal that he's left behind. "It must be as bad as I suspected." She takes Thrasks former seat and pushes the tray of food away to the side.

"Worse," Bethany says. "It says 'mystery meat'. It looks like rat." She prods at the dark meat with her fork. Meredith sees that only a few nibbles have been taken from it. The side salad has mostly been consumed. "I can't decide if you should risk it or not. Don't templars need all the strength they can get?"

"To fight maleficarum?" Meredith asks dryly.

"To wear that armor. It weighs more than me. I can't imagine how you all move about in it."

"Slowly, at the best of times. It provides more protection than those gawdy curtains you mages wear." Mind you, it was easier to run them through with a sword that way if need be.

Bethany looks at the sleeves of her gown disheartened. "Sad but true. Mostly I worry about the awful fashion." She sighs a little and pokes some more at the meat. "I haven't ever been joined by a templar for a meal and today I've had both you and Ser Thrask. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then I'll count myself as safe. People say you know everything," Bethany says with a smile. She picks up her glass of water and has a drink. "And honestly I'd rather it be you than some of the other…unfriendlier templars."

"Unfriendlier than me?" Meredith asks with an arched eyebrow. "Mind your words, Girl. The mages would have your neck for uttering such a thing." She smiles when Bethany laughs. What a strange sound in this place and all the more pleasant to hear it from a mage in the presence of a templar.

"No one ever told me the great Knight-Commander Meredith made jokes. I think the stories of your tyranny are greatly exaggerated," Bethany says piercing some salad with a fork and plucking it into her mouth. "Shouldn't you be careful? What would the templars think if they saw you talking and joking with a lowly enchanter?"

"I'd wager a good deal of them would be jealous." Meredith says and stands just as quickly as she's said the words. "Good day to you, Bethany." She says moving on her way. The conversation was too quickly ended but Meredith does not look back. It does not present a good example to the templars for her to be seen so enjoying the company of a mage. They do not have the good judgment or experience to resist such charms.

* * *

Meredith reads the proposal that Ser Otto Alrik has presented to her. He has refused to take a seat and stands stiffly in front of her, his hands behind his back. His jaw is square but Meredith sees the gleam of pride in his eyes and the smile that he fights on his lips.

Meredith is pale. "No." She says. His posture slips. He's ready to argue. "No, this will not stand. This is an assault on the good name of the templars and on the Circle. How can we expect anyone to trust us if we resort to such debase tactics?" She lifts the document to him. "To tranquil all mature mages without giving them an opportunity of a Harrowing, without giving them a choice? If word of this were to get out the apostate rebellion would spread, the mages here would go wild and with good reason." She slams a hand down on the table.

"Consider how easy it might make our duty!" Alrik says. "It is not madness. All mages are planted on this earth to serve the Maker! Yet many of them resist and endanger the lives of others, they turn to blood magic and demons to fight what is their rightful place! We would rob them of their revolts."

"We will not strip them of choice!" Meredith says. "We will not condemn them all without sound reason. That is not the way of the Order nor is it the way of the Maker or the Chantry. We cannot utilize such a weapon, Alrik. I will not allow this. Consider the matter finished."

"But Knight-Commander Meredith—"

"Be gone, Alrik. Be gone and never speak or think of this again. Be gone before I reconsider your place in this order." She places her hands on the desk and looks hard at him. He glares back angrily before bowing fiercely to her and leaving her office. He slams the door shut behind him.

Meredith takes deep breaths and brings a hand to her forehead. Is this what's becoming of her templars? It is too much. Some of them would go to unjust and extreme lengths. She unfolds the crumbled paper and goes to one of the torches that burn by the doorway, setting the paper aflame. If anyone suspected the Templar Order of such an injustice, the mages, along with the city may very well rebel. She will not allow a rogue templars foolish notions to destroy what she has worked so hard to build.

* * *

The Circle is tenser than normal. Mages have gone missing. Bethany sees mages huddled together in corners, dispersing upon sighting any templars. Suspicious to say the least but she can understand their fear—why give the impression that they're conspiring to rise against their captors?

The templars, for their part, have been doubling their forces in the tower. They line the hallways with their swords like pendulums. They allow her to pass but once more she is being watched closely. She wonders if they think she has any part in it. Some of the mages whisper that the ones who've disappeared have been murdered. Orsino has told her there have been rumors circulating in Kirkwall about an abnormal increase of tranquil mages in the Gallows selling their goods. Bethany can't imagine how the rumors might have started. She hasn't seen any more tranquil than is normal. Some of her students have missed classes. Even some of her most devoted ones. She searches for them but they're nowhere to be found. Their friends haven't seen them.

She begins to worry. None of the other enchanters have any better ideas. She looks to the templars, the ones she can pick from the crowd. Ser Thrask, Ser Cullen, Ser Alrik and Knight-Commander Meredith. Asides from the Knight-Commander and the Knight-Captain, neither of them spend any time together. Their faces have been grave and strained.

Bethany tries not to think of the night she turned a corner to find Grace and Ser Thrask speaking in hushed voices in a corner. Ser Thrask had taken one quick look at her and gone on his way. Grace hadn't been as polite. "Spying for the Knight-Commander, Lap Bitch Enchanter?"

Bethany had been too stunned to respond. Grace had brushed past her violently and that had been the end of it. The thoughts creep in her mind. Is Grace behind the disappearances? Does Thrask know anything about them?

She finds Cullen outside one of the classrooms. She waits several minutes for him to finish his conversation with Ser Alrik. When Ser Alrik leaves his side he passes by her, sniffing disdainfully. Bethany stares at the ground until he's moved past. Cullen approaches her. Bethany looks up at him. She has heard stories of Ser Alrik. She hopes they are just more of the exaggerated rumors that she's heard. She does not want to think of a templar doing such things. "Where have the mages gone?" she asks him.

Cullen's expression is stony. "I could ask you the same thing." He takes her arm and pulls her aside. "Some of the apprentices that have gone have been your students that have yet to undertake the Harrowing."

"You think I had something to do with it?"

"Did you?"

"No," she says, her tone deadly. "Don't you have phylacteries? Isn't this why you have phylacteries? I just want," she says her voice rising before she catches herself, "I just want to know where they are. I just want to know they're safe."

"They're gone," Cullen says. "Whatever the means, once they left this sanctum it is up to the templars to retrieve them. One way or another. Excuse me."

Bethany grits her jaw. No one has any answers. Not any that they're willing to give.

* * *

_To Knight-Commander __Meredith__, re. the so-called "Mage Underground"_

_Every Circle in Thedas suffers from individual mages who rebel and attempt to flee. These apostates are usually found and returned to the Circle or mercifully killed if they have fallen to demonic temptation. Until now, I have never served anywhere that the populace does not fully cooperate in hunting these rebels._

_Here in Kirkwall, citizens actually help rebel mages escape. Escaped apostates have survived their freedom long enough to form the "the mage underground," a network that feeds and shelters escapees and even transports apostates into remote areas of the Free Marches and beyond our easy reach._

_As of late, the movement has grown bolder, sending raiding parties into the__Gallows__in an attempt to break out mages who lack the skills or willpower to escape on their own. This is a grave concern. My recommendation is to fight back, both physically and in turning the minds and hearts of their supporters against them._

—_Knight-Captain__Cullen_

Meredith reads the letter several times over. The blasted lyrium tunnels dug ages ago by the lyrium smugglers are to blame for this mess. What has happened to Kirkwall? She remembers when the citizens gladly did their part and supported the templars in their duty. Now there are sympathizers everywhere, enabling mages in their escape and in so doing providing their undoing.

She will increase the templar presence in the tunnels. It's difficult. It's difficult to know who to trust. Some of the newer recruits are not tempered enough to fight a group of mages, helped no doubt by apostates and the citizens of Kirkwall. The templar order doesn't have the numbers that it once had. Newer members are easier to sway; not to mention the fiasco with the blood mages years ago. She has kept a close eye on the templar Keran but there are others she must watch. Knight-Captain Cullen is the only one she trusts implicitly.

She folds the letter and places it into a drawer. The goblet of wine remains empty and Meredith remembers she'd been ready for a glass when she'd begun the letter. She fills the glass, lifting it to her lips when there's a knock on the door. Clearly the Maker does not want her to have a drink this evening. She rises from the chair, tightening the sash around her robe and going to the door. Who is it at this time of night? She opens the door. "Bethany Hawke." Bethany seems as surprised to see Meredith as Meredith is to see her. Meredith keeps her hand on the door. "A strange time for a visit."

"I was asked to bring this to you," she nervously presents a scroll. "Sorry, I didn't know you…" She looks at her and then away, her cheeks reddening. Meredith looks down at her robe and pulls the lapels closer together but knows she hasn't been indecent. "I didn't mean to interrupt. There's a form requiring your signature. A templar asked I bring this to you. I didn't know him," she mutters, "but I didn't think I had any choice in the matter."

"Perhaps he had concerns regarding impropriety at this late hour. A novice, no doubt. Still, it is not an enchanter's place to run errands. I apologize for the inconvenience. No doubt you've your own matters to attend to." Meredith takes the letter and unfolds it, waving Bethany inside. Bethany goes in, shutting the door cautiously as Meredith looks over the letter. "You don't know the name of the templar who asked you to bring this?"

"No, Knight-Commander Meredith. My apologies. I should have asked."

"I am in a robe. There is no need for such formality at this hour. Neither one of us have forgotten my title. You may simply call me Meredith." She takes a seat and looks over the letter. Her eyes narrow. The list is lengthy but she catches a handful of names, along with the requests for tranquility beside them. "These mages," she reads the names, Ella amongst them, "have passed their Harrowings. They've always behaved appropriately and never caused a disturbance." Meredith frowns looking at the scroll Bethany has presented her. "This must be a mistake." She crosses the names off and makes a note, underlining some lines several times before she signs the document. She seals the scroll with her wax seal and extends it to Bethany. "Why do you look at me curiously? Are these names suspect?"

"No," Bethany stammers. "They aren't."

"Then you presented me with a list you disagree with." Meredith sees Bethany's hesitation. "I've asked you a question. Speak freely."

"I was asked to deliver this to you. Templars don't often care for the opinions of mages. A templar asks a mage to jump and the mage's responsibility is to respond with 'how high.'" Meredith looks long and hard at Bethany. She's tentative. "Does it matter that I don't agree with it?"

Not always. Not all opinions matter. Not that of the radicals, not those of the cowards. The opinion of Bethany Hawke carries more weight than some. "What I value most is truth and virtue, no matter the source. Who asked that this be brought to me?"

"A novice templar sent on an errand by a senior member."

Meredith looks at the list of names. "I will not blindly sign a form to tranquil mages who are no danger to themselves or others. I will have words with the Order." Is this the work of Alrik? Damn him, using such low measures and sending such a messenger as if to press a point. "No such action will be dictated without proof. That is not our purpose. We cannot allow any action that will spur the wild rumors of the apostates and casts a stain upon the Templars and Chantry." Bethany nods once and wraps her fingers around the scroll. Meredith at long last has a drink of wine. "Would you like a glass?" she asks Bethany. The enchanter looks uncertain. "You can say no."

"Ah, no. A glass would be…welcome," she stammers.

Meredith doesn't know why Bethany is so nervous. Meredith rises and retrieves another goblet from her small liquor cabinet, ignoring the necessary lyrium stored there. She pours wine for Bethany and gives it to her. Bethany takes it and has a hasty drink. "Calm yourself," Meredith says with a small smile. Her voice is too harsh and the words sound more like a command. They are words she has said often to nervous apostates. "Your task is finished," she says.

Bethany nods. "It's strange seeing you without your templar armor and sword and shield." Her eyes skirt to Meredith's face, drawing downward before falling away altogether. "You look…different."

"Smaller?" she smirks.

"Different," Bethany says quietly.

Meredith wonders if it's the fireplace or the wine that makes Bethany's cheeks appear rosy. "Perhaps not as terrifying," Meredith doesn't know if it's a joke or not. Bethany likely doesn't either. "I can't claim to know your every expression. Do I assume too much to think you troubled?" Is it the robe, she wonders. She feels self-conscious. Her long blonde tendrils are loosed around her like a curtain. She frowns thinking of it.

"Perhaps not as troubled as you?" Bethany smiles and then grows serious. "Mages are disappearing," she says quietly. "Everywhere I turn I hear stories, different theories but nothing concrete. I'm worried. Others are worried. The Circle is becoming… unpleasant and suspicious." Bethany stares into her wine glass. "I imagine I shouldn't be confessing such things to the Knight-Commander."

"What have you confessed? That the templars and mages are uneasy? It's true. Situations like these arise from time to time. You're new to the Circle and unused to such things. Do not let it worry you. The matter will be resolved."

"First Enchanter Orsino is worried as is Knight-Captain Cullen."

"Orsino has a penchant for dramatics," Meredith says dryly. "And Cullen isn't in the habit of smiling. The matter of these mages will be resolved in the same way as they have been resolved before. Runaway mages are nothing new."

"What if they haven't run away?"

"Are you saying some harm befell them? By whose hand? The Templar Order?"

"I don't know," Bethany says quietly. "It's so isolated here. There's so much whispering, so many rumors. I hear people screaming in the night, I see mages with bruised faces and girls who…" She grits her jaw and sets her wine down. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't say these things." Bethany turns to go.

"Bethany." Meredith says. Bethany stops but doesn't turn to her. "It is true that there are abuses. The Maker may have made us in His image but we are not perfect. There is no perfect mage, there is no perfect templar. Abuses occur on both sides. We can only address the injustice when we see it. I only hope you know that it is something we do not abide. I do not turn a blind eye to such cruelty. It is not the way of the Maker and it is not my way."

"I believe you."

"I'll pretend you've said it more convincingly, then," Meredith says. She finishes her wine and feels an unfamiliar flush to her face. She peers at the empty goblet and sets it aside.

Bethany goes to the door. She stalls there. "Thank you…" She stops, swallowing whatever she meant to say, perhaps the 'Knight-Commander' that is so often a precursor to her name being spoken. "Meredith. This was…unexpected but lovely all the same."

Meredith laughs softly. "Is it so surprising that we can get along? Templars and mages work best when we work together. We were never meant to be enemies; not when we are functioning as we should."

Bethany nods. "I'm glad we feel the same." She goes to the door. "Goodnight, Meredith."

"Sleep soundly, Bethany."

* * *

Bethany leaves Meredith's room. The Circle is dark save for the torches that flicker erratically in the darkness. Her face is warm, perhaps from the wine. It's been a long time since she's had alcohol. She thinks of Meredith's face in the light of the fireplace and how soft it was. With her golden hair falling around her she was…

She hears a sound and stops in her tracks turning. There are only black, empty hallways and endless stone walls. She clutches the scroll that Meredith has signed and sealed in her hands and continues walking until she comes to Orsino. He is in the chantry as he said he'd be. It is abandoned except for the two of them.

Bethany takes a seat beside him. Her jaw is set hard. She passes him the scroll and watches him break the seal and read the contents. Instead of the relief she expects from him, she feels his thin frame tense beside her.

"Don't you ever ask me to do that again," Bethany says coldly. "I will not do it again. Why did you ask this of me?"

"You're trustworthy."

"Not anymore."

"The Knight-Commander holds you in good esteem. You don't understand, Bethany. With the mages that are disappearing… it can't all be explained by the lyrium tunnels."

"The what?" The lyrium tunnels? What is he going on about? She repeats her question and he doesn't respond. "What are the lyrium tunnels?" she asks again.

He shakes his head quickly. "This proves nothing," he tells her quietly. "We must still remain vigilant. We must use all the tools in our arsenal."

Whatever the cause for the blush to her face earlier, it has now been replaced with anger. "So I'm a tool to you?"

"You're a tool to them, too."

"You're supposed to be on my side," she says adamantly. She looks at the statue of Andraste until she feels her anger begin to slip away. "Whatever it is that you're looking for, look elsewhere."

"Mages and templars alike have begun to speak of you and Meredith."

What? She has not heard of such a thing. She thinks of Grace. Is she spreading gossip? What manner of things does she say? She buries the thoughts. "Perhaps because you send me to her room in the dead of the night." She stands, aggravated. "You're the one jumping at shadows, First Enchanter. Let it be. For all of our sakes. Your suspicions have been laid to waste this night by the document you hold in your hand." She leaves the chantry and returns to her room, moving quietly in the black of night. She is unable to still the furious pounding of her heart. Deception does not suit her.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I totally suck for taking this long to upload this. No excuse!

* * *

Emile de Launcet has a habit of watching her during lessons. He stares at Bethany with his unblinking, too wide eyes and with what manages to be both a dopey and lecherous grin on his lips. He's harmless, Bethany knows, but it doesn't mean that he isn't annoying. A student shouldn't lust so obviously for his enchanter. How can arching his eyebrows at her look so sleazy?

On this particular day Emile employs his wiles, dropping his books as he's heading out of the classroom and taking far too long to pick them up from the floor. Bethany wants to wait by the door but pity moves her to stoop beside him and help him gather his loose papers. He apologizes too grievously and thanks her profusely when she hands him his items. There's no need, she says. That's when he takes her hand in his own, dropping the books back to the floor in the process. His hands are sticky with sweat. "I was thinking, Mistress Hawke, that you may be able to help me?" His Orlesian accent is so thick that sometimes Bethany has difficulty understanding what he's saying. She focuses on his thin, barely there adolescent mustache in an attempt to ignore the discomfort she feels when he holds her hand. "You are so gifted with magic. So young, like me. You haven't been in the Circle so long and you have so much talent. I would like to improve my schoolwork…perhaps with private lessons? Private tutoring, yes?"

Bethany discreetly pulls her hand away and just as discreetly wipes Emile's sweat off on her robe. "I think you might do better with your magic if you focused, no pun intended. It would help."

"Ah, but how can I help myself when I have such a beautiful teacher?"

And here we go again. Bethany doesn't understand his hair, the choppy bowl cut. She's not sure if Emile has gone bald prematurely or if he simply enjoys looking like a monk. A gawky, gangly one. "Whatever your reasons… and those… in particular, it's not proper to voice them. Though I am flattered," she tells him to be kind. She isn't flattered.

"Then no lessons?" Emile groans and begins to quickly collect his books anew. "Ah, I hate it here. I'm not so good with magic, I've never kissed a girl…" He looks up at Bethany desperately. "Do you think I will die here, a virgin?"

Bethany is speechless. Probably? She thinks of her own virginity and blushes. It's not like they can help each other out in that department. "I—certainly can't answer that for you, Emile." She stands. She likes to think that the reason the room feels hot is the sweltering summer and not Emile's attempts to beguile her. In times like these she really hates the mages robes. She can't bear to be in the room a moment longer. She bids goodbye to Emile and exits the classroom.

Time has slowed to a crawl. Or maybe it's only the heat of the summer that makes it feel that way. Mages continue to disappear, others return weeks later, bound by templars and looking more dispirited than ever. They mutter in angry voices that they've returned to a prison. They damn the templars, the Maker and his laws, the other mages who silently accept their fate. Bethany doesn't know how to console them. She can try and show them the advantages of the Circle. Perhaps it is easier to go to one after twenty years of freedom than to be shown a brief glimpse and be torn from it again.

She doesn't know. The Circle is in a slightly better place than it used to be. Or maybe it's only that she and Knight-Commander Meredith have come to spend more time together. It's nothing that has been intentional but Bethany won't complain if the Knight-Commander joins her for a meal or walks the halls with her in conversation. Perhaps Bethany feels that spending time with Meredith and getting to know the woman will somehow repair the disservice she did to her by presenting her with what was essentially a trap. One that Meredith deftly maneuvered. Still, Orsino does not trust her. Bethany thinks that Meredith is trying to do the right thing. Is she too trusting? Hawke always said as much.

Bethany makes her way to the templar hall. The templars now nod at her, not finding her presence unusual—she visits both the First Enchanter and Meredith frequently, Orsino more so than Meredith. Bethany has a preference but tries not to let it show.

The templar hall is still unwelcoming. Whatever pleasure she feels at visiting her two quasi-companions, it is quickly depressed by the oppressive nature of the life size gold cast slaves on the walls covering their faces. Bethany had once asked Orsino why they still were placed on the walls now that the Gallows no longer held slave prisoners. "You don't think this is a prison?" He'd retorted. "You're so naïve." Meredith had simply said that the Gallows served to remind them all of the dark past that must not be forgotten. "And we don't have the financial means to remove them," she'd added as an aside.

This day both the First Enchanter's and Meredith's doors are closed. Bethany passes them mutely, with some disappointment and continues down the hall until she arrives at the courtyard at the end of the hallway. The concrete square space is one of her favorites. It is still closed away but here she can see the sky and the clouds, even if she has to stare past a tower of rock to see it. There are lively fir trees, bright green and alive that smell of the forests that she can no longer visit. There are benches to sit on. She isn't as fond of the massive golden bird statues on each corner of the courtyard. Bethany always feels as if they will come alive and peck her to death. She berates herself for these thoughts; statues don't come alive.

She hangs by the doorway. There is a mild, welcome breeze today, doing its best to stave off the glare of the sun. Knight-Commander Meredith stands in the middle of the courtyard. Her armor rests on one of the nearby benches. She wears pants and a sleeveless shirt. Bethany can only imagine that she is practicing her sword work. She moves with effortless grace as she swings the massive claymore through the air in a flurry of movement. Bethany watches her while Meredith remains unaware. Her arms are more slender than Bethany could have imagined but they are toned all the same. Meredith's pale skin shines with a sheen of sweat and Bethany turns her attention to Meredith's face. She doesn't wear the headpiece or red hood that Bethany is used to seeing her in. As Meredith moves, her blonde tendrils follow in curves like the tail of a comet. Meredith does another turn, swinging the sword through the air in an arc. If Bethany had been her aim she would have cut her in two. As it is she's spotted her. Bethany smiles and steps forward, her arms raised. "I surrender."

"And if I weren't to accept a surrender?" Meredith asks. She turns the sword down, her hands resting along the long hilt of the sword.

"Then I'd be in a great deal of trouble." Bethany takes the woman in. The sun overhead is a hot, white dot but Meredith isn't sunburned, almost as if she's immune to the elements. Sweat gleams on her skin and in the loose, thin, sleeveless shift that Meredith wears, Bethany can see how the fabric clings to her skin, giving a glimpse of what's beneath. There is sweat on her collarbones. Bethany catches herself when she lifts a hand to touch Meredith. She brings it to her own hair. Thank the Maker for small mercies. "I hadn't meant to spy. You don't usually practice your sword work here, do you?"

"No, but there's a breeze. On days like these Maker knows you must be grateful. Knight-Captain Cullen can train the recruits. I, in the meantime, will avoid the stench of body odor that is typically produced by the templars on days like this." She is suddenly self-conscious.

"You're fine," Bethany says and unknowingly takes another step closer to her. "I can't believe the way you swing that sword," she gushes. For an instant, she's saddened. Hadn't she much said the same thing of Carver years ago? Her dear brother. She hopes that the Maker watches over his steps in the afterlife. Carver had had the muscles to back his sword work. Meredith's arms aren't any bigger than Hawke's or Isabela's but Bethany wagers they're much harder. "I doubt I could lift the thing."

Meredith smiles her dare and leans the sword toward Bethany. Bethany takes her cue, her fingers coming to the hilt at the precise moment that Meredith's leave it. She lifts the sword several inches before abandoning the effort. "Leave the heavy lifting to us templars," Meredith says.

"If we mages got a bit more sunshine and fresh air, perhaps we'd be more than beanpoles." Bethany smiles.

Meredith mirrors it. "The trick is to use the force that is generated and simply guide it. All it takes is a nudge. The weight of the sword does the rest. Mind you, _lifting_ the sword is a requirement for such a tactic."

"And here I thought you'd stopped teasing me for the day. Actually…I did come here for a reason." Bethany says and looks down at her fingers before looking back to Meredith. "Lunch. Will you join me for it? I haven't seen you in a few days and there's this Orlesian mage who keeps insisting on taking your seat." Not that the seat belongs to Meredith. Neither woman has ever said any such thing.

"Does he bother you?"

"Not particularly. But his 'charms' do get harder and harder to fend off."

"You can't fault the boy for having eyes."

Bethany doesn't know what to say. Has Meredith…

The Knight-Commander continues quickly. "Orlesians," she says contemptuously. "For all their so-called manners they're still some of the most irritating people to inhabit Kirkwall."

"Even worse than those Fereldan refugees? For shame, Meredith. Don't you know my type is the real menace? We take all your hard-earned jobs that none of your Kirkwall citizens want." It had been a joke but the smile on Meredith's face is bittersweet and then gone altogether. Bethany can't imagine what she could have said but it comes to her upon thinking it. Ah yes. Bethany knows that if it's between Fereldans and mages, the greater menace in Meredith's eyes would be the mage. "Aren't I so lucky that I happen to be both?" she mutters.

Meredith's hand on her face is cool, like a damp washcloth on a hot day. And surprisingly dry. Bethany looks to Meredith's face. Meredith's eyes are the color of lightning; Bethany feels a current run through her that leaves her momentarily breathless. "I'll join you for lunch. Let me ready. I can't very well be seen by the Circle in this state."

Her touch is gone too quickly and Bethany laments the loss of contact. What is wrong with her? She's just as bad as Emile de Launcet. Is she lonely? She hadn't thought that. It isn't as if she misses—it's not as if she's ever known it to miss it. "Great," she stammers. "I'll wait here." Meredith only pauses to smile back at her in that small barely there way that she tends to. Bethany takes it upon herself to search for those smiles. Their discoveries have become her game, her badges of honor. Maker's breath Bethany, she reprimands herself, she's the bloody Knight-Commander.

* * *

The Circle is full of unrest once more or maybe Bethany is only looking too much into things. From time to time she sees Feynriel. He looks pale and uneasy. Perhaps it would have been better for him to go to Sundermount with the Dalish after all. No one in the Circle has been able to help him and Feynriel has worriedly confessed to her that his nightmares have returned anew. "I knew that this blasted Circle wouldn't help me," he tells Bethany bitterly.

"I didn't put you here," she says.

"You didn't stop your sister from putting me here either," he spits back vehemently.

Maybe that's true. They part ways without saying anything more. What can Bethany say? How can she argue his finely made point? Can castrated mages really know the necessary magic to help someone like Feynriel? She isn't sure. Bethany brings the matter to Orsino but he has no answers. "There is nothing we can do for him at this point. If it gets worse I'll see what I can do about contacting Marethari."

"She'll come here?" Bethany asks.

Orsino shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. If it comes to that, other measures will have to be taken. In the meantime, let's hope for the best."

Bethany nods but thinks that 'hoping for the best' isn't much of a plan. At least, her sister would never say so. Then again, Hawke is allowed to make plans and to take action. It seems so much to her that all she can do is study and learn magic that she isn't really allowed to put to use anyway. It's beginning to feel stifling. The thoughts weigh on her for some time and she walks through the Circle in a fugue state until the sound of soft crying stalls her.

Bethany turns her head in the direction of the door where she suspects it's coming from. Ella's room. She knocks on the door gently. "Ella, is everything all right? It's Bethany." The crying stops abruptly. Moments later the door is opened. Ella stands before her with a tear stained face. Before Bethany knows what's happening Ella has flung her arms around her and the flood of tears has opened again. Bethany is alarmed. "What's happened?"

Ella sniffles and pulls away from her, embarrassed. She shuts the door and Bethany watches her pace. "I hate it here. I hate it here so much," she says. "I'm tired of eating the same food all the time and I'm tired of being watched so closely! What have I ever done that's wrong? Why can't I go outside and enjoy a nice day in the sun or rain? I hate these robes and I hate Ser Alrik and how he always looks at me and touches me when no one is near, I hate the things he says, I just want to run away like everyone else!"

Bethany's brow furrows. "All right. All right, Ella. I understand."

"You don't understand! You haven't had to live here your whole life! I mean, I really like you and everything. I'm sorry." She sits on her small twin bed, trying to stop herself from hiccupping. "I just wish I'd had the chance to do the things you had. You don't think it's bad because you haven't been here very long. When you've been here as long as I have, it's bad. It's getting worse." She covers her face with her hands. "I miss my family. I'm tired of being so scared all the time. There's nothing we can do," she looks up to Bethany who sits beside her and places an arm around her shoulder. "When you were an apostate, did you ever fight them?" She whispers. "Did you ever fight templars?"

Bethany is torn. She could lie to the girl. It would be easy to tell her that as an apostate she had been just as defenseless as a Circle mage. Or she could be honest. But what would that do? Cause Ella to resent her and think she supported a revolt against the templars? Ella's her student. She ought to be mindful of her words. Bethany strokes Ella's hair. "Yes," she whispers back. "I did."

"Do you ever want to still?" Ella asks. Bethany shakes her head. "It's hard when you can't fight back. We're just prisoners here. I just want to leave this place. I just want to die."

Bethany feels the clamp around her heart to see a fellow mage, one so young, suffer so. "It will get better," she tells her. "And soon you'll think… you'll be glad that you didn't," she says. It's always darkest before the light, isn't that what they say?

* * *

Meredith is reading a stack of briefings when Emeric abruptly enters her office. She sighs inwardly. The man is a good templar but he can be incessant when he's set his mind upon a cause. "Ser Emeric," Meredith says upon seeing the templar enter her office. "I hope you're here for something other than your regular business." Emeric's jaw hardens. So it is as she expected. Meredith remains seated, continuing to review the templars reports of mage activity and other crime around Kirkwall. She can't trust the city guard to keep the city safe. The new captain, Ser Aveline, Meredith thinks derisively, may be revered but if the raid on Gascard de Puis' mansion proves anything it's that she is also incompetent. "I have told you before, Emeric, and I will tell you again that the investigation must cease. It was an order. You do still know how to follow those?"

"With all due respect, Knight-Commander, there is a murderer on the loose."

"The raid on Gascard's home found nothing. How long will you continue this wild goose chase? There hasn't been a murder in years."

"But no one has been captured either. What manner of man leaves us with only pieces of a person?"

"You don't spend much time in Lowtown or Darktown, do you? Such low brow tactics are common." Meredith sets the paper aside and looks up at Emeric. He is so passionate for his cause that she wonders if he had been involved with the original Circle mage Mharen who had disappeared. "You cannot continue to embarrass the templars with this. We deal with mages, we execute maleficar. That is our task. All other inferior matters, we leave to the city guard."

"So the loss of a life, at the hands of someone who may not be a mage is not as worthy of our time? That is not the vow of the templars." Emeric says. Meredith rises. "What if he is a mage? What if he is a blood mage?"

"Then that would be different. Nothing was found in his home, Emeric. I am not saying that I do not mourn the loss of life. Any loss of life is an affront to the Maker but you were given your chance and you didn't make the most of it. Your opportunity was wasted. Heed my advice and stick to being a templar, not an investigator."

"He will kill again." Emeric says lethally.

"Perhaps. And if he does, perhaps he will be caught and taken care of. It does not concern us. What concerns us are these mages that continue to escape, the abominations that are pervading Kirkwall and taking many more lives in minutes than the handful your murderer has taken in years. There are more pressing matters at hand."

"Knight-Commander—"

"This conversation is finished, Emeric." She sits back down. Eventually he leaves. She hears him knock on Orsino's door but doesn't go to sit in on it; let Orsino deal with the overzealous templar for a while. Although... she wonders what it is that he could want with Orsino. Meredith stands, reevaluating sitting out on their meeting. She moves to the door and comes face to face with Bethany. Bethany is not expected. Admittedly, Meredith finds her company often welcome. There aren't many women in the templar order and most mages aren't worth the breath it takes to have a conversation with them. Perhaps all the time they spend in the Circle atrophies their conversation skills as well as their limbs. Bethany, on the other hand, appears blessed in both departments.

"Have I interrupted?" Bethany asks.

Meredith looks to the side of her to peer into Orsino's office. Orsino's hands rest on his desk and the vein in his forehead is throbbing in the usual way it does when he's excited or frustrated. Perhaps Emeric is only harassing him. "No…" Meredith says, her eyes lingering on the two men in the opposite office before she invites Bethany inside. "You've saved me the trouble of finding you. Come in. Close the door." Bethany does so and Meredith notes her nervousness. "I've something for you."

"Am I going to like it?" Bethany asks slowly.

Meredith laughs. "There is little in life that is guaranteed. This amongst it." She goes to her desk and pulls a drawer open, drawing out a small, flat wooden box. She extends it to Bethany who takes it curiously. "There was a small bazaar in Hightown the other day with Antivan and Rivaini merchants. I had overheard, from some of your detractors, that you could use one of these."

Bethany pushes back the lid from the box and laughs with delight. "Dates? I haven't had one of these in ages! Oh, how I've missed them." She takes one and sinks her teeth into the mauve flesh of the fruit. She moans happily and offers Meredith one who takes it with a slight smile. "I'm sure you could use a date, too."

"Are you playing the part of the coquet?" Meredith thinks it suits her. It gratifies her that Bethany has enjoyed the gift. It hadn't been a thoughtful gesture really. More of a joke. She eats her date, her brow crinkling at the joke that Bethany has made at her expense. Well yes. It has been quite a while. Has she ever 'dated' really? It's nothing she and Elthina ever did together. Ah. That was so long ago.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you." They both dispense of the date pits in the waste bin beside Meredith's desk. "You're free to take those. Perhaps if you give them to your Orlesian suitor you'll have some peace of mind at last."

"No way. These are all mine." Bethany says with a grin. She sets the box down on Meredith's desk. "I've…forgotten why I even came here. I think to see Orsino but this has worked better, hasn't it? I'm going to tell everyone that you're a jokester."

"You can try but you wouldn't be believed." Anyway, she isn't. She turns her head to look at the box with the merchants name branded onto the wood. She tries to remember it for next time. The fruit is delicious and she seldom has the pleasure of enjoying it herself. "There's no time for jokes when you must be vigilant."

"How can you remain vigilant with hair in your eyes?" she says with a smile. Her fingers lift to Meredith's forehead before they shift, brushing the strands of blonde behind Meredith's ear.

The contact unnerves her. Meredith reacts. That's all she knows how to do. Bethany apologizes quietly but Meredith has already taken tight hold of Bethany's wrist. She pushes her until Bethany's back hits the wall and kisses her with the same, fluid ease. How long has it been since her lips have touched those of another? Far too long. Warmth floods through her like a hot drink. What has this girl done to her? Bethany's lips yield. She tastes of nectar. Meredith's heart clutches in her chest. The jarring, unexpected pain makes her drop her head until they are no longer connected.

The action has stunned them both. Meredith pulls back, horrified by her impropriety and the surge of desire that she'd thought had been long buried. It flares throughout her and in the moment all she longs for, all she wants is to have her mouth pressed to the young enchanter's once more. Her body aches. Meredith still holds Bethany's wrist at an unnatural angle to her chest. If Bethany minds, she doesn't indicate it. She inches forward, her full lips taunting Meredith. She touches Meredith's face and speaks softly. "When I said 'different' that night in your bedroom so long ago, I really meant 'beautiful'. I still think that." She edges closer to Meredith until their lips brush.

Meredith hungers for her. How long has it been since anyone spoke to her that way? Bethany's words ignite a fire in her. Beautiful, Bethany says. When was the last anyone hadn't called her 'the templar bitch' or 'Knight-Cunt Meredith'? Meredith desires Bethany. The realization makes her weak and frustrated. She rips away from the woman and shoves her brutally out into the hallway before slamming the door shut.

She paces. She picks up the box of dates left on her desk and dumps them into the trash. Maker's breath, what is she thinking? What are these thoughts? Where is her strength? "Maker help me," she mutters quietly. A mage. Is she losing her mind?

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Things here are fine but I do get tired of being locked away all the time. I miss you and Hawke so much. Some of the other mages here don't handle it as well but they're younger so you can't blame them._

_I think being here so long is starting to affect my thinking. Things that I would have never, ever considered seem normal or…appealing. I wish I had you and Hawke here for advice. Hawke, especially._

_As always, don't worry about me. Take care of Hawke; she may be a bit of a brat but she means well._

_Do you ever wish you'd let me go to the Deep Roads?_She scribbles the last line out. What's the sense in asking such questions? What's the use in making them feel guilty? She finishes it.

_Love, Love, Love – Bethany_

Bethany folds the letter in half and seals it. She should write home more often but it makes her feel homesick. She doesn't write as often as she should either. Was Hawke trying to do the right thing by leaving her at home? Bethany can't say she'd been surprised when the templars came for her. Sometimes she wonders at who it might have been that had given her away but does it matter? She's here now all the same and supposedly preaching that the Circle is the best place for mages, unless they're Feynriel or Ella or so many countless others. Is she only fooling herself?

Meredith's been avoiding her. Bethany wonders if it's the sudden loss of companionship that makes the Circle seem so hopeless. What she really wants is for Meredith to press her to a wall once more and kiss her as if her life depended on it. Bethany's thought about it more than she cares to admit to herself. She's restless. "I need a walk," she tells herself.

She exits her room and goes to the chantry. It isn't like the one in Lothering; there are no beautiful sisters telling stories here, no others to sing the chant of light but it is quiet and it is peaceful. It is like a piece of the outside world in the Circle. She sits in the chapel for a long time and meditates. She wonders what she's doing with her life. Is this her life? Will she grow old in the Circle? Will she grow old and alone in the Circle? Will she ever see her family again?

The thoughts depress her. Maybe what she ought to do is return to her room and get some sleep or begin drafting next's week magic lessons full of tips and tricks that mages can utilize to make…charms. Bitterness courses through Bethany as she walks the hallways. She pauses when she hears quiet voices, one high and pleading, the other low and threatening. Her blood chills when she sees the form of Ser Alrik. He has someone pressed to a wall, who it could be she doesn't know all that she can see is a piece of blue robe. "I just want to go back to my room," Bethany hears the girl say. Ella. Bethany stares a moment longer to hear her whimper and try to push him away.

"What is going on here?" Bethany asks in the same hard tone she uses when a student in class is misbehaving. "Ella!" She marches up to them and pulls the girl away from the wall where Alrik had her pressed to.

"I was just walking back to my room," Ella says.

"Go to your room," Bethany says. "Go to your room now."

"Stay right there, Girl," Ser Alrik says eyeing her menacingly.

Bethany yanks Ella behind her. She gives her a gentle push. "Go. It's all right." Ella is hesitant but Bethany smiles and Ella goes, first walking and then running. "What is the meaning of this?" Bethany demands. "Harassing a young mage out in the open like this? Don't you have the decency to do it behind closed doors like everyone else?" She doesn't know why she is suddenly channeling her older sister but the words are already out. "How could you do this?"

Alrik chuckles. "She's a mage and I'm a templar. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want and you can stand there and glare at me all you want but nothing is going to change that." He steps closer to her. "You think that you can keep your eyes on her at all times? You think I'm the only one? I've had more students than you have."

Bethany slaps him; the bitterness of before has transformed into bitter rage. She doesn't care what happens; she doesn't care how he will mistreat her. She is filled with uncontrollable hatred for him. Her eyes water. "How dare you?"

Ser Alrik retaliates, backhanding her viciously. His metal glove collides soundly with her face. The force is so violent that Bethany loses her footing and falls hard to the floor. She tastes blood. It has been so long since she's fought a battle that her eyes water further. She is no longer accustomed to physical pain. "You may be an enchanter but you are still a mage! Know your place! Or you shall find it at the end of my sword. Both of them." He looks at the blood on his glove and licks it with a smile.

Bethany scoots away from him before standing clumsily. Her fist curls, electricity surging through it when she hears Cullen's voice calling out Alrik's name. Bethany glances back at him and walks away from them. She hears Alrik comment to Cullen that she's getting away. Bethany sprints.

Minutes later she arrives in the templar hall. She pushes past the doors in the darkness and pounds on Orsino's door. There's no response. She looks to Meredith's door, also closed and with no light lit. She doesn't know where Orsino sleeps; a peculiar fact and not one that she's ever wanted to or needed to know but she does know where Meredith is thanks to Orsino's errand months prior.

She stalks the hallways, taking unconventional paths until she arrives at Meredith's room. She tries the door and is surprised when the knob turns in her hand. She pushes the door open to find Meredith sitting at the desk with her night robe. Bethany pays no attention to the long flash of her creamy legs or the way the startled expression on her face makes her look vulnerable. "You're the Knight-Commander," she says marching up to her, "but not only that, you're a woman. How can you let this happen? How can you allow such behavior in your order?"

Meredith rises from the chair and looks at Bethany's face. "What's happened to you?" She reaches a hand out to touch Bethany's face but Bethany wrenches it away before she can touch it. "You're bleeding."

"All thanks to the bloody templars you claim uphold all that is good about the Maker."

"Who did this?"

"Alrik!" Bethany shouts. She wipes at the blood from her mouth before she covers her face with her hand. "But not just him. I was a fool to think that such a place could exist. That your ideals could manifest across an entire order that controls the lives of a lesser group! Do you even care what happens to us?" She asks, angry tears streaming down from her face. Meredith's jaw is set hard. "Are some of the Maker's children unworthy?"

Meredith is ready to respond when Cullen walks in. "Does anybody knock?" Meredith asks.

"Knight-Commander." Cullen's surprise at seeing Bethany in Meredith's room is clear or perhaps he's never seen the Knight-Commander in a robe. "I came to report an incident I saw with Ser Alrik. I see that Bethany has taken it upon herself to report to you personally." He looks at Bethany's bloodied and bruised lip and then to Meredith.

"Did you speak with him?" Meredith asks.

"He claims that Bethany assaulted him." Cullen says.

Bethany narrows her eyebrows. "I slapped him after I found him groping a young mage against her will. From the looks of things it wasn't the first time it's happened…! She was terrified but what could she do?"

Cullen frowns. "No matter the situation it is unacceptable to assault a templar."

"I'm sure he'd prefer it if we lay back and let him have his way with us," Bethany says heatedly. "I refuse to simply be assaulted or let him have his way with my students, _your_charges! If you won't protect us, I will take measures to do your job for you!"

"You will control yourself!" Cullen roars. "Knight-Commander! Will you suffer such insubordination from a mage?" He stops when he sees the blood running down Bethany's chin, dripping onto Meredith's floor. He sighs. "This incident has us _all_troubled." He looks toward Meredith who is uncharacteristically quiet and then to Bethany. "Will you require an escort to your room?" Cullen offers.

"Why for?" Bethany asks dryly. "Am I to be wary of more templars lurking in the shadows ready to jump at me? Isn't the Circle supposed to be safe? Aren't you templars supposed to take care of us? Instead you would have us suffer your many abuses in silence! I can't trust you; I can't trust any of you…!"

"Bethany that is enough." Meredith says. She looks at Cullen who glares at Bethany and looks at Meredith expectantly. "She is upset. Leave us."

"Are you sure that's wise, Knight-Commander?" Cullen asks, his tone imploring her to reconsider.

"I am perfectly capable of handling a lone mage."

Cullen's jaw tightens. He's ready to say more but instead nods his head. "As you say. I am sorry for what has happened to you, Bethany. Just know that we are not all Ser Alrik. Just because he has taken the low road doesn't mean you ought to do the same."

"Wait," Bethany says shakily. "The mage, Ella. Could you check on her? See if she made it to her room all right? She was the one Alrik harassed tonight." She would ask no other templar but Knight-Captain Cullen or Knight-Commander Meredith to do this. He nods his assent curtly and departs, his fingers hesitating on the doorknob before he shuts it. Bethany's breath hitches and she wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. She hears Meredith moving behind her but doesn't look at her. The emotion of the evening has exhausted her and here she'd been so afraid she wouldn't be able to get any sleep. "I will report this to Orsino. He must know."

"Tell him, if you must. He already dreams that wilder things happen regularly." Meredith says behind her. "I'm sure he'll prepare an elaborate speech for the Gallows square that no one will pay attention to. I will speak with Alrik."

"He's beating and raping mages and you'll speak with him? That's swell, Meredith." Her voice is dry and husky. She swallows the lump in her throat.

"I only have proof of what he's done this evening. If other mages come forward—"

"Why would they come forward?" Bethany turns to look at her, her eyes blazing again. "So you can have a 'talk' with the templars? And then what happens when they leave your office? Who will protect the mages then? You'll never take the word of a mage over a templar's."

"I'm taking the word of a mage over a templar's tonight," Meredith holds a wet cloth in her hand. She guides Bethany to the massive four post bed that sits in the center of her room. The sheets are red. She uses a firm hand to sit Bethany down and sits beside her. "I am sorry this has happened." She says wiping the blood from Bethany's face. She dips the cloth beneath Bethany's chin to find the blood there. Bethany keeps perfectly still. "You may not believe it but this isn't a common practice. You must know that."

"I thought I did." Bethany says. Meredith holds her chin in her hand. "I don't know anymore." Meredith says nothing, her long, elegant fingers trailing delicately along the bruised flesh of Bethany's face. Bethany half closes her eyes. "I'm not happy here. I write my mother and sister and tell them lies so they don't feel any guilt for the way my life has turned out."

"You know why you're here."

"I know what the Chantry and the templars tell me. I know that I have never harmed an innocent and that free men and women, people born free of magic run loose in the cities killing people. There was one a few years ago that killed a Circle mage. Did you know her?"

"Yes. I knew her."

"Did you mourn her?"

"I mourn the loss of all innocent lives."

"I have never, ever wanted this. What good has ever come of my magic? I only ever made things difficult for my family. Maybe it is best that I'm here, locked away. Maybe now they can know peace. Now they won't always have to be looking behind their backs or endangered because of me."

"Yes. That's best." Meredith pats the cut on Bethany's lip, checking the cloth now and then to see if it's free of blood. She continues to dab at it. "My sister was a mage." She tells her softly. "My family hid her. They didn't want to turn her over to the Circle. They were afraid for her; they were afraid of nights like this and templars like Alrik. They didn't want to betray her freedom. Amelia was sweet. We never thought she could harm anybody." Her words come more slowly. "A demon possessed her. She became an abomination. She killed… my father and my mother." She smiles weakly. "I hid and survived. But she left our home and killed seventy other villagers. The templars found her. I watched as they cut her down. You should have seen the lay of the land, Bethany. Villagers trying to fight an abomination… running, shrieking…and everywhere… the eye could see death. Bodies. My neighbors and friends, the lay sisters and merchants… The ground was soaked, red with blood. Have you ever seen that, Bethany? Do you know how much blood occupies the bodies of over seventy souls? Spilled needlessly..." She shakes her head. "On nights like this, when I see faces like yours I have to keep that memory close to me—that of my dear sister Amelia butchering my family and a village before she was ended." Meredith cups Bethany's face gently. "Not any of us ever thought she could do such a thing. And I've seen so many of you say the same and think the same and at times I've even believed it only to again and again…"

Bethany takes the hand that Meredith holds to her face but doesn't relinquish it. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Does it change anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I understand you more. Why can't it be better than this?" she sighs, her hands dropping to her lap. "Is it all talk, then? This idea of mage and templar comradery? I wanted to think it could be real." She laughs hollowly. "Do you know you're my best friend here? It's pathetic."

"Your lip will split open if you laugh that way."

It has. Bethany dabs it with her finger. It comes away red. "Sorry, I'll try not to laugh more often. That won't be a problem here. My friend Varric used to call me 'Sunshine'. I rarely laugh anymore."

Meredith guides Bethany's finger back to her lips and keeps her fingers wrapped around Bethany's hand. "Fix it." She says quietly.

Bethany does. She feels the threads of her skin tug and pull together, her face heating and cooling until it isn't the swollen, bruised thing of only moments ago. "Better?" she asks. Meredith nods. "Does this make you feel less guilty?" Meredith is silent. "You've avoided me for weeks. I've missed you." She allows caustic laughter. "Do you know how stupid I feel saying that?"

"No stupider than I felt kissing you." Meredith rises from the bed. "You are a mage and near half my age."

"Does that matter?"

"Of course it matters."

"Why does it matter?" Bethany asks. "Because you're a templar and I'm a mage? Are we sworn enemies? I may not trust all of the templars just as you no doubt don't trust all of the mages. Can't we work together?"

"Where? In bed?"

Bethany blushes. She stares at her hands. Without the pain of her face to focus her, she has lost herself too easily in Meredith's conversation, in the tone of her words and grace of her movements, in her eyes that pierce her through reaching something that Bethany had not known existed. She rises from the bed. "I wouldn't know about that," she says with an embarrassed smile. "You really hurt me that day, you know."

Meredith takes Bethany's wrist, her fingers trailing the contours. "Did it bruise?"

"No." She leans forward without thinking and finds her lips. Meredith is as rigid as the armor that she typically wears, a fierce contradiction to the way that Bethany melts, feeling as if she is losing form, losing shape and herself, becoming a puddle of warmth and ardor. Meredith secures an arm around her waist. Whatever hesitation she held has been revoked. Meredith pulls Bethany to her and Bethany feels the curves and swells of Meredith's body through her thin robes. She is weak kneed. Ardor moves her to bring her hands to Meredith's hips and pull her closer to her—it doesn't feel as if she can get close enough. She cannot ever recall wanting anyone, wanting anything more than this. They kiss feverishly.

"We shouldn't," Meredith says breathlessly.

Bethany responds to Meredith's protests by claiming her mouth again. Meredith's revolt is crushed. The Knight-Commander's hands move over her now, moving along places where no others hands have wandered, where her body comes alive at the mere touch. Is this Meredith's brand of magic? And there is still so much material in the way of her, in the way of Meredith. Bethany pulls the sash away from Meredith's robe, pulling the material open, her fingers finding the hot flesh of the icy Knight-Commander; they both draw shaky breath.

Meredith moves with renewed vigor, her lips are on Bethany's neck, her hands undoing Bethany's Circle robe. Bethany is guided backward, her robe slipping further and further down until the back of her calves touch the edge of the bed and her robe lays at her feet. Meredith drinks her in. Then she settles a hand at the small of Bethany's back and maneuvers her backward. Bethany's palms touch the bed first. Meredith plants a knee between Bethany's legs. Meredith's form is radiant. Hovering over her like this she looks like a goddess of legends, perfect and sure, strong and vibrant. Bethany's heart feels as if it will explode. She shudders nervously, her body going rigid now that she's realized what she's gotten herself into. Meredith kisses her and Bethany returns the kiss clumsily. "What is it?" Meredith breathes the question into her ear.

Bethany touches a hand to Meredith's chest, not to hold her back from her, but to feel if Meredith's heart pounds like her own. It does. "I've never… Ever… With anyone…" She can't look at her. She is mortified. What would Hawke or Isabela or Carver say? Her first time, in this way, with a woman, the Knight-Commander, the bane of the mages existence. "What if I'm not… What if you hate..." Bethany's words are stifled by Meredith's kiss. Bethany explores Meredith's body experimentally with her hands, noticing Meredith's sharp intakes, wondering if those are good things. Her skin is so unexpectedly soft.

"I'll take care of it," Meredith whispers. Bethany is gently maneuvered onto her back. "I'll take care of you."

There is no time for questions. And even if there were, in Meredith's hands, in her mouth and lips and tongue, Bethany can't form language. There is only the raw sensation, the near pain of her body being called and animated, made to sing. She burns, her spirit and pleasure soaring, going to heights far beyond the walls of the Gallows and Kirkwall, beyond all of Tevinter, set free for the first time in years.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I was drinking while I wrote parts of this. I hope it isn't too obvious. This is heavy on Meredith and the politics of DA2. As always I will keep hoping to put the fun in dysfunctional. Also, those of you who've read it will find the tiny shout out to snippetcentric's glorious Red Hood. Go read it for Hawke x Meredith yummy ness.

* * *

_Be on alert for a templar named Ser Otto Alrik. His abuse of mages is clear—some suspect his machinations reach to forcing the rite of tranquility on mages who have passed their Harrowing. The templar order may exist to protect mages—but that alone does not give them the Maker's rights. No mage should suffer their violations without protest. Though I may do nothing of these events, those who sit on such knowledge and remain silent are just as guilty as any perpetrator._

_-A friend_

* * *

Though Meredith is well aware of the violence that pervades the streets of Hightown at night, she has not been bothered. It is fortunate, she thinks, because if the City Guard were her only protection from the scum that infest the streets than she may as well forfeit her life. Not that it matters; she doesn't need defending. She is a tower and an army all her own; she cannot be stopped. Tonight she walks with purpose. She has been summoned.

She received notice from the Grand Cleric requesting her presence hours earlier. Though Meredith's duty is to the Maker above all, she serves the chantry and the Grand Cleric in the physical realm. Meredith cannot remember the last time that she saw Elthina.

The chantry is bathed in shadows. Meredith knows the layout well. She passes the red candles that burn in the darkness casting a tinge on the space before climbing up the carpeted stairs and turning to the right where Elthina's room is. No doubt whatever she wants to speak of cannot be overheard by others. This has always been the nature of their talks; it is necessary in such a politically heated environment. Meredith knocks on Elthina's door. It is promptly opened. Meredith is taken aback. The Grand Cleric looks older. Has it truly been so long since they've seen one another or has Meredith only gained fresh perspective? Meredith steps inside; her heavy armor is a stark contrast to Elthina's soft robes. Elthina's quarters are humble but refined.

Elthina looks at her for a long time as if trying to place who Meredith is. Meredith keeps her distance. Elthina speaks. "I was presented with a notice, written by Ser Alrik, petitioning the Most Holy Divine grant authority to start the Tranquil Solution. He wrote that you rejected the plan."

Meredith wonders how word of it got out. She knows that she burned his request. Has Alrik been so foolish as to speak to others about it? Would he disrespect her orders so? "I spoke to him numerous times; it was never a viable option, not one that I would allow."

Elthina frowns. "Nor one that the Most Holy Divine would allow. They are far from here. Needless to say Ser Alrik proceeded with his plan. Maker knows how many young men and women he…abused. You had no idea that he was forcing mages into tranquility, right under your very nose, Meredith. You're not usually so lax in your duty." Meredith tenses. The Grand Cleric is not typically so confrontational. "He's dead now. You can find him in those lyrium tunnels of yours."

Meredith does not flinch at the news; she has often taken worse news without reaction. First she must focus on the issue at hand. "The lyrium tunnels have been in use long before I became Knight-Commander. The Chantry condones both their use and that of lyrium. If you have a point, Your Grace, get to it."

"I'm disappointed in you," Elthina says. Meredith laughs sardonically but doesn't comment. "How did word get out? This kind of action disrupts a very fine balance in Kirkwall. Was it a templar who spoke of it?"

"The templars knew no such thing. You know how the mages are with their paranoid ideas." Perhaps Orsino in his wild imagination drafted some idea that only out of staggering luck managed to hit the nail on the head.

"The element who presented this to me— they will use it to stoke mage sympathies, sympathies that I cannot keep denying."

"What 'element' do you speak of?" Meredith asks aggressively. "I want names."

"You won't get them," Elthina says. Meredith scowls. "You know I cannot take sides. Meredith, do you think that you go too far?"

"I do not go far enough. This," she snatches the paper from Elthina before throwing it into the fireplace, "goes too far. Whatever may have happened, it has surely ended. Alrik breathes no more and whatever his violations they will not continue. That is not the way of the templar order you know that we serve only the Maker, only the chantry, only _you, _Your Grace."

Elthina's face softens at the words. "It has been some time since you've visited, Meredith. Must I resort to summons to have audience with you? Is it only duty that keeps you away?" Meredith's smile is pale. "The years have transformed us both; I far more so. I was young and beautiful once. The body ages, though our spirit remains as youthful as ever." Elthina's tone has grown wistful and melancholy.

The reason for Elthina's anger suddenly becomes clear. "You are beautiful still, dear Elthina." Meredith watches the woman. Yes, dear Elthina, her oldest, dearest friend. How have the years passed so swiftly? Meredith remembers meeting her as a young templar recruit when Elthina was but an affirmed sister. They have both done well for themselves; Meredith is still grateful for Elthina who is wise and listens to reason, who put her in the post of Knight-Commander when that embarrassment of a viscount ruled the city. Only now to be ruled by another embarrassment. But better a puppet that can be swayed in the right direction than a dictator who would think to usurp the authority of the templars and the Maker.

"Do you have business this evening?"

"Always," Meredith says taking a step backward when Elthina takes one forward. "Thank you for informing me of this news. I will take care not to disappoint you again. You know how I cherish you," she bows to her, gracefully exiting before Elthina makes any requests that Meredith will not fulfill.

* * *

Meredith stares down at the bodies of Ser Alrik and a number of other templars. Cullen beside her begins to remove the helmets of the other men. He speaks their names as he identifies each one, slaughtered. Meredith looks at the lay of the earth. There was a skirmish here. They may be lyrium tunnels but it was not only lyrium smugglers and templars who were here this night. Lyrium smugglers and templars aren't in the habit of battling; their relationship is mutually beneficial. The trail of lyrium smugglers bodies from the entry of the gallows prison to this exit point to another culprit.

"They're all dead," Cullen says. "Save for Alrik these were good men of unblemished records."

"They were barely more than recruits," Meredith shakes her head with dissatisfaction. "What age are we in that men and women do not hesitate to slaughter the Maker's warriors? This injustice will not stand." Meredith's eyes fall on the other body present, a young mage girl. "This is Ella." Meredith says. She stoops beside her and examines her wounds. "I can't imagine why she would be here."

"Trying to escape no doubt," Cullen says abandoning the other templars and standing beside her. "A student of Bethany Hawke's. You remember how her temper flared when she learned of Alrik's abuses."

Yes. Meredith remembers that night quite well. "She will be displeased." Meredith knows that the wound will cut more deeply than simple displeasure. "A templar did not kill this girl; nor did a lyrium smuggler. I sense it, Cullen, stronger than anything. This girl was killed by her own kind, by apostate garbage," she says sickened, "no doubt the same foul creatures that killed the men of our order." She stands. "We will have the appropriate ceremonies for these men. Gather some of your finest and bring them here."

"I'll make preparations. Everyone will be recovered."

"No. Alrik stays. Take his armor. He is not fit to wear it. Whatever creatures crawl in these tunnels are welcome to him. He violated his duty."

Cullen allows a moment and then nods. "Fitting. And the girl?"

"Leave her. We will inform the First Enchanter of her fate. Let those who try to run and break in stumble onto her end. We will have all enchanters remind the apprentices and the mages that this is what we try to protect them from: themselves and others like them."

* * *

Bethany has been dispirited since learning of Ella's passing some days ago. Meredith has no words to soothe her; Bethany grows morose when Meredith tries. She no longer cries about it. Meredith considers that progress.

Bethany sits behind her desk in the classroom, distractedly looking through papers. Meredith stands behind her, watching the flicks of her quill as she leaves suggestions or admiring words. Bethany finally lets the quill drop and covers her face with her hands, taking a few deep breaths before bowing her head to rest it on her palm. Meredith looks at the curved line that the dripping quill has produced on a report. "Take a break," Meredith says. "You are not in the state of mind to do this."

Bethany stubbornly picks up the quill and begins to read through the papers anew. "I'm fine."

"This is not the first time a student has passed."

"I'm not so routinely used to murdered students as you are. Forgive me for caring." Bethany says sharply. Meredith frowns. She is out of line; Meredith assumes that it is the grief that is talking. "Telling the Circle mages and all of Kirkwall that she was murdered by a mage while trying to escape and leaving Alrik's part of it out altogether. You're good, Meredith."

"Say what you will, Bethany. She was murdered by one of yours, _not _one of mine." Meredith stares at the back of her head. Even like this she can see the anger that radiates from her like waves. She touches a gloved hand to Bethany's back; she is hard as stone. She leans closer, looking only as if she's peering at her paperwork. "I am not the one you are angry with." Her hand slides up to Bethany's shoulder and squeezes lightly. Bethany turns to look at her; she is more sullen than ever. Meredith detects another familiar expression: guilt. "You have instructed them well. You played no part in this."

Bethany parts her lips to protest. Meredith presses a finger to them. Bethany blushes. Despite their many disagreements Meredith can't help but be enchanted by the woman. She is naïve but smart, open minded but not so that her brain will fall out of her skull. There are other positives. Meredith thinks of the pressure of Bethany's lips, the heat of her tongue, the eagerness of her hands and the way her breath and words whispered in passion rise and fall. Meredith's body flushes with desire; it still takes her by surprise even weeks later. Her finger slides down to Bethany's chin and Meredith secretly curses the leather that keeps her fingers bound. Bethany's hand moves to the red sash bound around Meredith's waist, her fingers tease there, touching along the belt before they both hear a sound and separate.

Orsino rounds the corner and walks into the classroom, his eyes settling fiercely on Meredith. "Torturing the new enchanter still?" Orsino asks. "She's recited your spiel just as you asked her to. You can only govern so much, Knight-Commander. Her time is not your own."

"It's all right," Bethany says to him.

Meredith glances to Bethany and looks to Orsino. "You will mind your tongue, Orsino. If she has any influence to fear it is your own. I heard your impassioned speech in the Gallows today; misleading as it was. Do you ever think of how you work against your cause when you rant the way you do? Is it your intention to turn all of the Maker's children against him? You may be an elf but in Kirkwall you shall abide by the Maker's design and not that of your so-called Creators. Every day you and the qunari stir the pot; you would have Kirkwall torn apart at the seams fallen prey to the ridiculous lore of the Creators and the heathen Qun."

"I'm not the only one with a knack for lengthy, impassioned and misleading speeches, it would seem," Orsino says smugly.

Bethany gathers her items and leaves.

* * *

Ella is dead because of her. The thought presses to her like an iron maiden. Now that she's gone Bethany can think of all the things she could have done differently. She could have spoken to Alrik more often, she could have supported Ella more or perhaps been more vigilant of her going ons. She could have not written the letter.

It's impossible for her to focus. She can't know what happened and as much as she'd like to pretend that Meredith's words of the events that transpired were fabricated, she knows all too well that it is not unusual for mages to murder one another. The question is who? Merrill? Anders…? She doesn't want to think of it; all she has is her imagination, high strung and running rampant to provide her with what might have unfolded.

Meredith watches her in her typical reserved fashion. Bethany tries to still her movements. The hour is late and Meredith has returned not long ago; she had Elsa summon her, the tranquil mage oft used to deliver messages to Bethany. "I've had to step up surveillance," Meredith tells Bethany, going to the liquor cabinet and pouring herself a glass of lyrium, downing it and then pouring two glasses of wine. "It makes the days longer but we cannot falter." She has a drink of the wine before bringing the other goblet to Bethany. "Are you still so nervous to be here or do other matters weigh on your mind? Was it the First Enchanter? I am of the mind he wants you all to himself, the way that he watches you."

"Orsino?" Bethany frowns. She knows it's absurd for the thought to strike her as ridiculous, especially considering her romantic entanglements. "No, I don't think so. He worries."

"He thinks he can care for you better than I can?"

Bethany detects the sneer in Meredith's voice absent as it is from her face. She has a drink of wine. She doesn't like the way that Orsino and Meredith constantly snipe at each other or to her about one another. Both of them have merits and fine ideas; it's only a pity that neither cares to understand the other. "I'm sure he thinks so. You're the knight-commander. The mages are terrified of you."

"And you?"

"No, of course not. But I know you." Bethany sees the way the tips of Meredith's lips shift upward subtlely. Meredith is not prone to full smiles. "We won't always agree. We'll always have discourse—but I think it's dangerous to always spend time with others who think only as you do. It's close minded," she adds softly.

"I disagree."

"I know."

Meredith takes Bethany's wine glass and sets it aside with her own. Bethany has learned well where the hooks to Meredith's armor are. Her fingers slide where they need to. She no longer needs sight. Meredith kisses her; Bethany strips her of her armor.

* * *

"The bounties have been increased substantially just as you recommended," Cullen reports to Meredith in her study. He has had much to report in the past several weeks. "Notices have been posted everywhere, particularly Lowtown and Darktown."

"No doubt the criminals in those areas will be moved by the worship of coin and not the wishes of the Maker. I hate to resort to such demeaning tactics. Unfortunately we must any means to rally the unbelievers to our cause; they know we are right. Those who truly believe the rhetoric of the mages could not be bought. The Maker endeavors to help those who help themselves."

"It is as you say. The people of Kirkwall are resistant; I have never seen a city that denies the templar order its duty as this city does."

"If they continue to resist then we will continue to apply the necessary pressure so that they can resist no more." Meredith writes a note in her elegant hand, a list of the apostate mages that still need to be recovered. "I understand that Saemus Dumar is fraternizing still with the horn heads. Dumar cannot even control his brethren and still the masses sit in the Keep for hours on end waiting for him to solve their problems." She laughs contemptuously. "There are dark times ahead, Cullen. You must be prepared. These qunari would turn the children of Kirkwall against the Maker; I do not trust for one instant that they intend to sit idly at the Docks for long. Dumar may fool himself with such notions but I will not. We will increase the training regimen; we need more recruits. We must be prepared Cullen, for war."

"All of Kirkwall seems eager to fall to the darkness day by day."

"The righteous will never fall," Meredith says. "Be assured of that."

* * *

_My dear friend,_

_I have obtained the books you requested. I'll leave them at our usual hiding spot. Please collect them as soon as possible. I would hate to see them in the wrong hands!_

_Your last letter was fascinating! You have proven me wrong, once again, by doing the impossible. I shouldn't have doubted your resolve, and I hope you will keep me apprised of further progress._

_Your friend and colleague,_

_O_

Bethany reads the letter that sits on Orsino's desk and immediately forgets about it. Orsino has asked to meet her; he has been in dark spirits since the situation with Feynriel. Though they spoke with Marethari and Hawke was somehow involved in the whole business, Feynriel awoke a tranquil. Meredith was satisfied with this end, the threat of Feynriel becoming an abomination no longer feasible. Orsino was incensed. "If your sister is in the pocket of the Knight-Commander there's no hope for any of us," he'd told her heatedly.

Bethany hadn't known how to counter Orsino's argument without somehow insulting Hawke, Meredith or Orsino; she'd said nothing. Who knows what it is that happened in the Fade? She can't judge without knowing. Feynriel had been so troubled; perhaps becoming tranquil was the best solution for all involved. Meredith believes the assertion but Bethany isn't sure that she does.

"Ah, you've made it," Orsino says sweeping into the room. He snatches the letter from the desk and tucks it into the inside cover of a stack of books. He sets them on the floor beside his desk. "You may know why you're here." Bethany stares at him blankly. "There have been some concerns about your… involvement with Meredith."

"My 'involvement' with her?"

"You spend an inordinate amount of time together."

"According to whom?"

Orsino takes a breath and leans back into chair, twining his long, thin fingers. "It reflects poorly on all mages if you are seen with her. You eat meals together. Who knows what else," he mutters. "Don't you see that as long as you are seen fraternizing with her you send out a message that all is well? The Knight-Commander is not to be trusted. She is ruthless and cunning—you're too young to understand the implications." Bethany resents the accusation. She is near to her mid-twenties. "You don't want to appear to condone her actions."

"I don't condemn them," Bethany says. "Did you not tell me yourself that unless you or I were to personally spot a blood mage in the act we could not act on our gut instincts or our hunches, convictions, whatever you want to call them? Of the templars I have seen, she is the best one. Why is this any different?"

Orsino narrows his eyebrows. "I have not been the First Enchanter for too long, Bethany but I am far older than you are. I am not blind. Meredith will use whatever means to control those around her; don't think yourself exempt. I see how you look at her. Know this: when you stand at the courtyard admiring her sword work, remember that it is that very skill that she uses to cut down your fellow mages and students."

A ripple of cold fear trails down along Bethany's back. She wants to protest but she is left speechless. She thinks of Meredith; she does not murder the innocent. Meredith is good. She is. They don't have to agree on everything for that to be true. Her duty is difficult. Meredith serves the Maker.

"I've said my piece," Orsino says standing. "If you want to keep your eyes shut then I cannot help you. Now I must go; whatever Meredith may think, I don't only sit around writing 'impassioned heretic speeches'." he says standing. He picks up the stack of books he'd previously set by the desk and exits.

Bethany remains sitting.

* * *

Emeric has been murdered. Every day she loses more and more templars to apostate mages; where's the sympathy for them? Who rallies to cry for those holy warriors who serve to protect the innocent? If no one will rally for their cause Meredith will mobilize the forces herself. She cannot rest.

The hour is late and Meredith works by candlelight. Elsa presents herself in Meredith's study. She tells her, void of all emotion, that Bethany's mother has been murdered at the hands of a blood mage. Bethany's Uncle Gamlen has just informed Bethany; The First Enchanter is with her. Meredith presses her with more questions which Elsa answers to her full ability.

Meredith thanks Elsa and rises from her chair exiting the office. She makes her way through the darkness and to Bethany's room. Meredith knows where it is but has never visited her there.

The halls are crackling with energy. Meredith is grateful for the extra lyrium she drank prior in the evening. The closer she gets to Bethany's room the more she feels the pulse of the malignant force that surrounds her. By the time she arrives to Bethany's space the air is dense and tight making Meredith claustrophobic. She hears weeping through the door and forces it open.

Orsino holds Bethany in his arms; his face is strained and tight. He is pale and sweaty. Orsino apologizes repeatedly. Meredith only observes the scene momentarily before she takes tight hold of his robes. "You're done here," Meredith says and expels him from the room. She shuts the door and waits, staring at the door, waiting for protest but his steps hurry away. Meredith looks at Bethany whose eyes are red-rimmed. Her cheeks are flushed and stained with tears. "I am sorry for your loss." But she is not surprised by it.

"My mother is dead," Bethany whimpers, "killed by a blood mage!" Bethany looks at Meredith expectantly. "Go ahead and say it! Say what we both know. My kind is an abomination; this sickness He's filled us with is His way of telling us He has turned His back on us!" She clenches her hands together; currents of lightning run throughout her and Meredith again feels the space around her fill with energy. "Why is it always the same? Why does it always end the same way? What manner of person commits such atrocities? He pieced her together…!" Meredith takes Bethany's shoulders but Bethany jerks away from her. "Orsino told me how Emeric had spoken to you about this killer, the same one loosed for years on Kirkwall and you told him to cease his investigation!"

Meredith does not want to argue with her. She could point out that Emeric's prime suspect had been Gascard de Puis, not Quentin. She chooses not to. She chooses not to point out that she and the templar order have lost many good men to loose apostates.

"Have you nothing to say?" Bethany asks.

"Nothing that you want to hear." Meredith says. Bethany looks at her defiant through her anger and sorrow. "You want to blame me for your mother's death? A mere man does not have the power to govern over life and the afterlife as this necromancer Quentin did. You and the Circle can scold and point fingers, you can turn your noses up at me disdainfully but this is exactly the madness that I seek to prevent!" She does not mean to yell. "Time and time again your kind proves that you cannot be trusted!" How like a mage to blame a templar for the continual sins of the mages!

Bethany raises a hand to slap her. Meredith takes Bethany's arm tightly; electricity courses through Bethany; it spreads to Meredith, buzzing, filling everything. "Take this from me," Bethany weeps, "I don't want it. I have nothing anymore. I only want to be ordinary. I have so much hatred inside of me; I feel it rising and I don't know anymore." Meredith unknowingly holds Bethany's arm more fiercely. "What if I'm not who I think I am? What if I'm weak and only destined to fail and fall like all the others?"

"You will not," Meredith says, her words clipped. In an instant she shuts Bethany down. All of her abilities, all of the filthy magic that courses through Bethany's veins, that festers in the air is sapped away. The room is only a room. Meredith is a Knight-Commander and Bethany only a common woman; free of magic. Yes; this is the templars greatest weapon, the ability to steal from the mages what makes them dangerous, rendering them useless.

Bethany is dazed and weak. She looks around the room. Meredith knows that Bethany senses the change; she knows what has been forcibly taken from her. Bethany leans her forehead on the cold breast plate that Meredith wears. "Can't you do this?" she asks quietly. "Forever?"

"No." If only it were so easy. It will never last forever. It will not last for much time at all; it only affords the templar the time to cut distance and then follow such action with a cutting blow to end the opposition.

Bethany releases a shuddery breath. She still shakes. "I want to always feel this way. So tired. But free." She closes her eyes. Meredith strokes her hair. They're quiet a long time. Gradually the air comes alive once more. "Do it again," Bethany says numbly. Meredith does. Bethany pulls Meredith to her bed. "I need you."

Meredith has never seen her this way; Bethany is shattered. She complies with Bethany's shameless, murmured requests. She keeps her armor on despite her reservations. "It will hurt," she warns Bethany quietly. Bethany answers with a kiss and a desire to be kept pinned and imprisoned.

"I want no part of this," Bethany says taking Meredith's face in her hands and kissing her urgently. "I want no part of me."

Meredith feels inexplicably unsettled. She complies with her charges desires.

The next day Meredith orders a series of notices be posted all over Kirkwall: one implicating in detail the many atrocities committed by apostates and those who aid them and the other encouraging the fine citizens of Kirkwall to join the esteemed ranks of the Templar Order. _The Just do not stand idly by and allow the wickedness of the few to endanger the lives and freedoms of the many. A willing belief in the Maker and his laws are Kirkwall's strongest weapons._

* * *

"Saemus Dumar is dead," Elthina tells Meredith. "As is the Revered Mother Petrice."

Meredith rests her hands on the railing that oversees the entry to the chantry. It appears that she is only ever here at night after some action that is an affront to the Maker. This night is no different. Meredith shakes her head slowly. "Say what you want about Petrice; her intentions were good. The qunari menace is going to be undeniable soon but the citizens of Kirkwall are all too eager to turn a blind eye to it. I will not tolerate such madness in my city. I will send word to all of Kirkwall that tonight the viscount's son, as well as a Revered Mother were killed at the hands of qunari."

"You can't do that," Elthina says, alarmed. She touches Meredith's arm. Meredith looks at her coolly. "We cannot spread untruths. It reflects poorly on us all."

"I will appropriate the necessary means to squash any qunari sympathy that this city may have. Why is Kirkwall so keen to turn from the Maker? Would you have the city fall to the Qun? To such blasphemy? You keep your neutrality, Your Grace; I will do what must be done as I always have." Meredith looks at Elthina. In the low candle light her features are softened and Meredith sees the woman of so many years ago. Meredith touches Elthina's face gently. "What of Hawke? What was her role?"

"She is blameless," Elthina mutters nervously, her eyes flicking away from Meredith before daring to look back at her. "She is popular amongst the people; whatever the city's problems she has a way of resolving them."

Meredith strokes Elthina's face delicately but deliberates on Hawke. No mere citizen should wield so much power or be involved in such affairs. That is the task of the templars. Meredith knows that she will have to keep close eye on her.

* * *

Bethany lies on her stomach on Meredith's bed, a sheet covering her lower half. She has a magic book open in front of her. Meredith is beside her planting kisses along her back. Bethany's flesh heats where Meredith's lips touch. It makes it difficult to concentrate but Bethany would rather focus all her energies on pleasurable, physical sensation than anything else. The past few weeks have been exhausting and all too emotionally draining. She has felt anger at everyone: mages, Orsino, the city guard, the templars, her sister, herself. She is happy to lose herself in Meredith. She feels safest with the knight-commander; safe from herself, safe from others like her.

"It's hard for me to read when you do that," Bethany says softly. She turns a page of the book but Meredith's kisses do not cease. She shifts her neck to give Meredith access when the woman sweeps her hair to the side. She abandons the book altogether when Meredith's hand slips beneath the blanket. Bethany inhales sharply and feels the shape of Meredith pressed to her back.

"Tell me about your sister," Meredith commands quietly.

Vertigo slams into Bethany. She turns to look back into Meredith's face. Her iron will makes it difficult for most people to see how truly radiant and beautiful she is but Bethany sees it. "Now?"

"Now."

It is difficult to formulate thought, much less speak about her elder sister. Bethany summons her resources. "She's a bit of a brat and doesn't let anyone tell her what to do. She will do what's right— Maker why are you doing that while making me talk about my sister?" Her face flushes.

Meredith stops stroking her. "Go on."

Bethany chases the fleeting feeling. "She's good and capable and charming," she hurries the words out, "she's beautiful. You don't want to get on her bad side. She will do anything; she can do anything…"

Before she is able to get too lost in family memories the book beside her is shoved to the floor. It falls with a heavy thud and soon Bethany is on her back, her wrists pressed down beside her, held firmly in Meredith's hands like a chain. "Thank you," Meredith says.

Meredith's kiss calms and arouses Bethany.

* * *

The Gallows is under attack. The city is under attack. Qunari overrun the Circle but the templars are near. The mages and apprentices watch with baited breath as the templars fight back the force that has invaded. Classes have let out for the day and the mages and apprentices who lingered in the halls have come face to face, likely for the first time in their lives, the violence that exists outside of the Circle.

The First Enchanter finds her frantically. "We must gather the mages and apprentices and get to safety."

"Where?" Bethany asks. She isn't trying to be insolent. She does not know where to take them. If there are this many qunari in the Circle, how many are outside the Gallows? What guarantee is there that they can even escape? The qunari are fearsome warriors; they have nearly taken the world before. More than that they have the Saarebas; a few of those could easily conquer the younger mages of the Circle.

"I don't know," Orsino says, "away from here. Take them to the templars, by the Maker, they'll be safer with them than here." Bethany looks straight ahead, a gang of qunari approaches. They still instill a sense of fear in her since Lothering. These are helmeted and covered in war paint; their steps are like a stampede. "Go," he shoves her, "just go!"

Bethany looks at the faces of the frightened mages, Emile de Launcet, Alain and Grace amongst them. "Is that why we're here?" Grace asks. "So we can be caught, fish in a bleeding barrel?"

Bethany sees Orsino wield his magic staff and listens to the shrieks of the Circle. "Let's go," she tells them. They run. The Circle has been set on fire; mages work water magic to kill the flames but not without cost; they are easy targets for the qunari to gut. The mages and apprentices she's with, never having seen a corpse begin to shriek and wail. "We've got to keep moving," she says to those who kneel before their dearly departed friends uselessly attempting to revive them with healing magic. "It's too late for them." When a particularly resistant Alain still won't rise Bethany jerks him to his feet. "Move!" They move.

She doesn't know where she's taking them. They come across Ser Thrask and Cullen. "Thank the Maker," Bethany says gratefully. "What's happened?" she asks Cullen.

"The qunari are attacking. The Arishok and others have taken some of the more prominent members of the city to the Keep," Cullen says. "The Knight-Commander is making her way to Hightown; she will not stand aside and let these barbarians do as they please to her fair city."

Bethany's unease spikes. "I fear they may have taken the First Enchanter." Yes, the last time she'd seen him had been not even an hour ago but how long can anyone last against a qunari rebellion on their own? Bethany wonders if he was targeted specifically for his position. "I have to go after him." Bethany runs back to where she came, towards the qunari before Cullen can say no. He has more important things to worry about than a loose enchanter.

Bethany steps outside of the halls she's known for the first time in years. Smoke and fire billow and choke the Gallows. To the Keep then. She readies her staff. It has been many years since she has seen battle; there has been a quiet rage that has grown inside of her. It is not one she has wanted to use; it scares her. But she must find The First Enchanter; the Circle cannot afford to lose him. Despite his somewhat paranoid ideas, Bethany believes in his ideals and looks up to him, as does the rest of the Circle.

Not only that, Meredith is in this place somewhere amongst the violence; does she have others to aid her? "Maker help us all," Bethany mutters. She begins to fight her way through the city; it will take some time to get to Hightown amidst the warring factions. She passes the bodies of men and women of all races but keeps going determinedly; she avoids fighting when she can. Her body grows heavier as she moves through Kirkwall; she has not fought battles like this in years and it shows through her fatigue.

She finally reaches Hightown. There are qunari dragging mages along; she recognizes some of them as the sons and daughters of nobles. When she sees the Saarebas she stiffens and raises her staff. She doesn't have the chance to fight him. Something cracks into the back of her skull; everything goes black.

* * *

She awakens next to Orsino who scolds her for going after him. Whatever crushing blow she might have retained has been healed. Hawke is there too, making jokes, like always. Bethany isn't amused, less so when Meredith and Orsino cede control to Hawke.

They make their way to the Keep entry where Hawke sides with Meredith. Bethany rolls her eyes. "What's wrong with a distraction?" she asks Hawke. "Why risk your life needlessly when you can sneak in? Does everything have to be a spectacle?"

Hawke shrugs. "Don't deny me my spectacles. You know how I like to make an entrance." Hawke looks at the group of qunari. "You know my favorite kind of bath is a blood bath."

"Charming," both Meredith and Bethany say.

Orsino and Hawke look at both women curiously. Bethany crosses her arms. "You'll be careful, won't you?" She looks at Hawke but she worries for her and Meredith. She would prefer if the two women that she cares most for would be prudent when forging plans. Not that either one of them has ever been known to show constraint.

"I'm hoping to be rather dangerous," Hawke says and laughs. Everyone stares at her. "Oh give me a sodding break, I've been fighting for hours." She hugs Bethany quickly. "Be careful, won't you? I really couldn't handle losing you too."

Bethany frowns; she tenses her jaw because she knows she may cry otherwise. She never wants to leave her side. "Don't do anything stupid," she manages tightly.

"Course I will; but I'll try to be all flashy about it." She pinches Bethany's cheek and winks at Meredith. "Let's get going, Gorgeous."

Meredith makes a face. Bethany frowns; she sees that some things never change. She can only imagine how Meredith is seething at the lack of respect. Hawke's glibness isn't charming to everyone. Meredith squeezes Bethany's shoulder, as if she were simply moving around her. She draws out the length of her blade, stained with blood.

Bethany watches them go; her chest tight.

* * *

The night has been long and full of battles. Meredith is weary but that alone does not allow her to simply retreat to the Gallows. First there is the nonsense with all the nobles at the Keep and to begin a rigorous investigation to what sides people played, which people were lost, what mages took the opportunities to flee. Cullen delivers word to her that Elthina would like to speak to her regarding the events and any new viscounts. It can wait. Elthina can wait. There is no need for a viscount, not immediately. If the last one had been worthwhile, the slaughter of this night would not have happened.

As the templars round up the mages, Meredith grabs Bethany, telling her to stop by her room later on in the night. She soon releases her and allows her to return the Gallows with Orsino. So many were lost in the battle, not only mages, but templars, good men and women and countless citizens. The qunari have been overcome; there is some good to come of the chaos after all. Those who follow the Maker couldn't have thought it would end any other way; the qun is but a sham for those devoid of spirituality and belief: such poor souls could never hope to defeat those guided by the Maker.

Meredith stays at the Keep for some time, having templars and members of the city guard clear the mess of bodies and gathers servants to begin to wipe away, best they can, the signs of carnage. She makes sure that each noble is safely escorted home. Several hours later when she and the templars have dispatched of the remaining qunari she returns to the Gallows. There is no doubt that city officials and magistrates will seek her counsel but they will wait. The temple guards are instructed to allow no interruption.

Meredith is in her room a short time when Bethany arrives having heard word from Elsa of her return. Meredith finishes her drink of lyrium, wiping delicately at her mouth before turning to look at Bethany. She had been worried earlier when she'd found the mage on the ground beside Orsino. The qunari murdered countless innocents on this night but the First Enchanter had slipped through their grasp. The man is slippery. "I am happy to see you safe," Meredith says.

Bethany goes to her and takes her hands before letting them go. "Likewise. You made me worry earlier when you and that sister of mine rushed into the qunari horde to the Keep, swords blazing. You're both mad."

Meredith smiles faintly. How grand it had been to put a name to the face. She'd never seen her so closely before. Having interacted with her for such a short time this evening, however, was sufficient enough for Meredith to get a good sense of her. She could be trouble but would make a good ally. If the Champion of Kirkwall were to side with the templars than there could be no opposition. Hawke, however, does seem like a bit of a jester. In a time of a crisis, if the choice is between Hawke and Meredith, the answer will be clear. "Is it common for your sister to duel for thieving whores?"

"Don't say that. 'Bela's nice. As for Hawke, I can't say it's out of character."

Meredith grunts. The pirate wench's outfit had been indecent to say the least. "I see where you get your good looks. Fortunately you have also been gifted with a brain, something that given our short encounter with your sister would appear she is sorely lacking. She can thank the Maker for her brute strength."

Bethany pushes Meredith's shoulder playfully. "Are you only angry that you weren't the one to battle the Arishok and dazzle all the nobles?"

Meredith scoffs. As if she cares for such trivialities. If she had battled the Arishok the battle would have been more swiftly won. She undoes the buckles of her gauntlets. Bethany helps her and pulls them away. "You were the one to think I had not planned adequately. I did not know you were in the business of war strategy." Bethany smiles wryly. Meredith is filled with fondness for her. "I was happy to see you were well. Next time do not risk yourself for your First Enchanter. Your life is better than his." She touches the crease that appears on Bethany's brow and follows it with a brush of her lips.

"I don't know how we could have planned for it," she says. "I was…upset and surprised. It isn't the way I would have picked to freely wander Hightown again. It isn't how I would have chosen to see my sister. She can be so blasé about everything," she says irritably and then stops: "Dueling for 'Bela... she likes to think of herself as a romantic, or the gestures, anyway. She'll likely brag about it."

"Foolishness is often branded as romantic. Be that as it may, your sister is the Champion of Kirkwall now. I gave her the title; what she makes of it is up to her." Yes, she had given her the title but what else could she do? The people of Kirkwall were clamoring for her; the nobles had witnessed Hawke defeat the Arishok and qunari that had kidnapped them. To refuse her in public, to argue with her would have weakened Meredith's own standing and that of the templar order. Granting her the title had caused many of the men and women to turn to Meredith with respect and pleasure in their eyes. It had reminded them that only Meredith could dispense titles; a fact worth knowing.

Bethany's jaw drops some. "You made her the Champion? Oh, that's brilliant. She doesn't have enough ego as it is."

"Jealous?"

"What's there to be jealous of? All her freedom and prestige? Who needs that? I have…The Gallows and…" The joke tires her suddenly. "You. I have you." She languidly pushes back Meredith's red hood and threads her fingers through the golden hair. "You were amazing today; all your many hours of practice have not been for nothing." They kiss briefly. "Would you ever fight a duel for me?" Bethany asks abruptly.

Meredith smiles thinly. She takes Bethany's face in her hands. "I will always do what is necessary, no matter how painful."

* * *

It has been several months since the viscount was killed by the Arishok; peace has been restored to Kirkwall. Citizens are coming to rely on the templars once again though tensions remain high. The City Guard will be a problem. The people of Kirkwall will learn that aiding apostates will not be tolerated; Meredith has realized that she has been too lenient. In doing the Maker's will, she must employ the necessary means.

Meredith frowns. There's… she looks around her study. No one is present. She exits the study and looks to Orsino's office: it's empty. Is that whispering? She goes to the courtyard. Elsa sits on a bench reading. "Do you hear that?" Meredith asks her. "The whispering?"

Elsa looks at her in her usual unfeeling manner. "I hear nothing, Knight-Commander Meredith."

Meredith leaves her. Perhaps voices are carrying particularly well today. She returns to her study and hears nothing more. She works for several more hours until restless she stands and goes to her locked armoire. She unlocks it. Her hands shake as she draws out her newest acquisition; a sword, strong and true blessed by the power of Andraste and the Maker; she will use it to smite out all the corruption and bring mercy to lost souls. She swings the blade effortlessly; it is lightweight in her grasp but she knows how deeply it cuts. She lifts it and presses her forehead gently to the flat of the sword; it pulses. It is alive.

It sings to her.


	5. Chapter 5

Knight-Commander Meredith ensures that Bethany is promoted to Senior Enchanter. Bethany joins a group of four others, not including the First Enchanter, whom are considerably older than her. The small ceremony takes place in the archives area of the Circle library where the oldest books are kept enclosed behind glass.

First Enchanter Orsino greets the occasion with a presentation of sour mirth. He makes a small speech, raising a goblet of wine to her: "I hope you'll be comfortable amongst this select group of your new peers. We all look forward to you sharing with us your new hopes for the Circle and helping to shape its policy."

Meredith raises her drink to the words; Bethany misses it but Orsino does not.

Bethany lifts her own glass to the small group trying to quell her shaking hands. Knight-Commander Meredith and Knight-Captain Cullen are the only non mages present. "I am privileged and humbled to be asked to join the Senior Enchanters. I will do my best to work with both the templars and the Circle to secure the proper way forward."

The templars smile triumphantly. The smiles of the First and Senior Enchanters are strained.

* * *

Bethany has had a tad too much wine. She's heady from the induction prior. She hopes not to disappoint anyone. She sits on the bed and removes her shoes. Meredith walks in; she has a key. Bethany smiles casually over at her. She can't imagine how Meredith still wears the heavy regalia of the armor even at this late hour. "Come to congratulate me?" Bethany asks. "I remember you taking issue when I was promoted to enchanter."

"In retrospect it was one of Orsino's better ideas. Did he seem anxious to you tonight?"

Bethany considers the question. "I didn't notice." Orsino didn't seem any different than usual, anyway. She stretches her arms above her head before getting to her feet. Neither goes to the other, each willfully keeping their distance. Bethany moves to the small vanity table she has and takes a seat on the bench. "I can't figure out if this means we'll see less or more of each other." They have never spent too much time together, despite Orsino's claims. It may only seem that way since there are few others that Bethany spends time with at all. She has some friends and many acquaintances but throughout the years she has noticed a divide grow between them. She can't tell why.

"I suspect we'll see more," Meredith says. She goes closer. "We are no Grey Wardens. We cannot indulge in their extravagance that borders on gluttony but there is some cause for celebration. I take it this day is important to you and I do hope you derive some sense of pleasure and accomplishment from it."

Bethany looks into the mirror to look at Meredith; her smile is surprised and quizzical. "Yes, of course."

"What would you have us do?"

What would she have them do? Bethany doesn't know. There aren't many choices in the tower. There's the small chapel, the classrooms, the bedrooms, the cafeteria, the library… nothing ideal for celebrating. She hadn't known anyone could celebrate anything in the Circle past a few words. It'd be much easier if they were out on the town. She stands swiftly, already excited. "A date on the town. Just one night. I'll wear a dress and you can wear…anything. Those are my demands."

"I give you an inch…"

Bethany slinks to Meredith and touches a finger to her breast plate. She pouts mildly before smiling. "We've been together for years." She lifts on her toes and plants kisses along Meredith's neck and jaw. "If you really trust me; you'll do it. I'll behave. I could never run away from you," she takes Meredith's face in her hands and kisses her slowly. Meredith circles her arms around Bethany's waist. Bethany only breaks the kiss when Meredith wants more. "Please?" She presses a quick peck to Meredith's lip. "Pretty please?" She trails the tip of her tongue along Meredith's ear until Meredith grabs the back of her neck and pulls her back fiercely. Bethany laughs.

"All right," Meredith says testily. Bethany cheers. She jumps and wraps her legs around Meredith's waist. The Knight-Commander holds her up easily, returning Bethany's exuberant kiss. "How much wine did you have?" she asks after breaking their kiss. Bethany nuzzles her neck in response. "Generally you ask a First Enchanter permission to leave the tower," she says carrying Bethany to the bed. "Not the Knight-Commander."

"I did. He always said no."

"That probably had something to do with me." Meredith admits, setting Bethany down on the bed. "We will not tell him about this." She pulls away from Bethany's demanding hands and kisses. "I must ready. You do the same."

She leaves. Bethany remains on the bed, somewhat fatigued and lightheaded. She wonders if she only imagined the Knight-Commander agreeing to her demands; for so long Meredith has appeared on edge; tonight she is in warmer spirits than usual. She will take advantage of it. Bethany forces herself to rise from the bed and bathes. She is disappointed when she remembers she has no dress to wear; as a Circle mage she is only allowed her robes. So much for fanciful thinking.

Meredith, on the other hand, has changed out of her attire. Bethany is initially alarmed when Meredith returns not having immediately recognized her. "You look like a villain," Bethany says with a hint of delight. Meredith has chosen to go incognito. She looks more like a sell sword for hire in her sinister black leather armor than the shining defender of Kirkwall. Only her face gives her away, proud and full if dignity. Bethany pulls the black hood over Meredith's head and trails her fingertips lightly along her golden waves of hair. "You rogue."

"Your contentment knows no bounds. I might hazard that you have taken fancy to villains."

"Only certain ones," she teases.

"This is a violation of my vows." Meredith says. The familiar thoughtful crease by Bethany's brow resurfaces. "Given the extraordinary circumstances and the particular charge I will make an exception." She sighs softly. "I vowed never to be fooled by a pretty face; it is a fact I have pounded repeatedly into all members of the order. To do this is hypocrisy."

The celebration just keeps getting better. She wonders if it will end with her becoming tranquil. Bethany takes her hands. "But I'm not fooling you."

"I believe you believe that." Meredith says. Bethany frowns and lowers her head. "This is why it will always be difficult between us."

"It doesn't have to be." Bethany says without inflection. She releases Meredith's hands and takes a few steps away. She looks out the barred window pensively. The night is chill, the stars dim. What had begun as a pleasant evening is quickly growing dour. "I'm in love with my warden. I wish I could say I make terrible decisions."

"Would you change it if you could?"

"No. Would you?"

"The question is meaningless; what's done is done. I care very much for you. No matter how you leave me conflicted."

"You always hold back; I sense that. You've always held back with me because of what I am. If I were different, if I were…normal this would be easier for you." She leans the side of her head into the stone wall. "If I were stronger I'd ask that you let me go."

"I have no intention of letting you go." She goes to her and draws her away from the wall. "I do believe I made you a promise: a night on the town. I cannot afford to stand out; I will not be able to provide you with the extravagance you may desire."

"I only want the night air on my face and to see the stars without bars clouding my view. I only want you."

Meredith kisses her soundly.

* * *

Hightown is livelier than Bethany expected. The torches light the wet cobblestone of the city making them glow like embers in the fireplace. Meredith has given her a cloak, pointing out that her enchanter's robes would give her away as quickly as anything else. Bethany sees how the city has changed and recovered since the Qunari incident. Shops that she remembers have been replaced by newer and seemingly inane ones. Bethany wonders how a shop that sells clothing for animals can thrive when some people can barely afford to clothe themselves. She supposes anything is possible in Hightown.

They eat at a small, tucked away restaurant sitting at a small, tucked away table. Bethany thinks that at least in the Circle she can eat with Meredith in view of others. The thought depresses her; she feels more confined than ever. Meredith looks up to Bethany in the middle of the meal and reads her discontentment. "Does it need to be sent back?"

"No, it's great." Bethany says. It is. But her mood has muted the taste of the meal. She has little appetite. "This is great," she tells Meredith who affords her a small smile. She ought to be grateful. She asked for the impossible and Meredith provided it; it isn't anyone's fault that she's a mage and workarounds must be necessary. Despite this, she sometimes wishes that she were still an apostate. The thought makes her nervous. Meredith doesn't react and it surprises Bethany though it shouldn't; Meredith isn't a mind reader. Still guilty over the thought she reaches a hand across the table to take Meredith's, half-expecting the woman to pull it away. She doesn't.

The rest of the meal is much improved and their spirits meliorate. Meredith is hesitant to talk about Circle and templar business and so they're left with only a handful of topics to discuss, some of which Bethany can't contribute to because she hasn't left the Circle to have knowledge of them. She feels limited, more and more so as the night goes on and soon she is forgetting her dreams of being an apostate and remembering the strange freedom that the Circle affords her. They discuss literature. Meredith confides, with some disgust, that there is a pamphlet going around in which she and Orsino engage in "inappropriate behavior". Bethany tries not to choke on her meal. She succeeds. She tries not to laugh but fails in that endeavor. "Can I see it?" she asks.

Meredith glares. "Of course all copies will be found and destroyed and whomever the perpetrator shall be punished severely. I will not suffer such an indignity in silence. You know that they only intend to sully my reputation."

"That's horrible," Bethany says but she smiles as she says so and wonders if either her sister of 'Bela have a copy. For all she knows, Isabela is the one who wrote it. She tries briefly to imagine Orsino and Meredith together and feels queasy.

"You will repeat that to no one," Meredith orders. Bethany asks if she's read it. "I can't say that I've read it but from my understanding it's salacious."

"If it's any consolation, I think you'd be the one in charge." Bethany says with a light smirk. She can't tell if the news pleases or distresses Meredith.

They finish their meal and exit the restaurant. Some of the Hightown nobles pass and give them disparaging looks. Bethany has never cared for their attitude. She stops suddenly and grabs Meredith's arm. "Can we go to my sister's home?" The Amell Estate. How she would have loved to see her mother in it. Was her mother happy? "I guess it's my home, too."

"The Circle is your home."

The stark, sudden bitterness that rushes through Bethany nearly chokes her. She keeps her tone neutral. "It's here in Hightown and I've never seen it." The look on Meredith's face, shadowed in the night is answer enough. "Please?" She stops suddenly, her fingers digging deeply into Meredith's arm when she hears her name called. She turns her head to see Thrask hurriedly approaching. She releases her arm. "It's Thrask," Bethany warns Meredith quietly.

Thrask slows his footsteps the closer he gets to her. He looks at her curiously. Bethany waits for him to reach for his sword but he doesn't. Meredith remains at her side, looking away from them. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "You're not allowed out of the Circle. Who is this person?"

"No one," Bethany says.

Thrask lashes an arm out to grab Meredith but she sidesteps it, taking his arm and twisting it painfully behind him. She kicks him to the ground and draws her sword pointing it to his neck. Bethany stands petrified. Thrask scrambles back trying to get at his sword. "Ser Thrask," Meredith presses the tip of her sword to his neck and steps forward, pulling back the cloak from her head. "You have been lax in your task; that is not the manner in which you approach an apostate. One might think you a sympathizer. Why are you in Hightown at this hour of night?"

Thrask steels his jaw. "I could ask you the same, Knight-Commander. Why are you in Hightown with a senior enchanter? Why are you both in disguise?"

"We are here on business. Bethany is the Champion's sister; the Champion has been of some aid to the templars in the past. Bethany is only doing her part. On your feet," she drops her arm to her side and lets him scurry to his feet. "You may return to the Gallows," Meredith tells him but still Thrask does not go. "Have I given you ground to question me?" Her eyes are hard. "Is there a reason you do not follow the direct order of your highest superior?"

"I apologize, Knight-Commander. I was not aware that mages were…" He keeps his gaze on Bethany who looks directly at him. She remembers him at the Wounded Coast so many years ago; she remembers his daughter. Thrask is a good man and is sympathetic to the cause of the mages. She is grateful that he did not run her through on sight. Had it been any other templar she would have been in danger. Thrask bows. "I shall return to the Gallows at once."

"A wise decision," Meredith says, sheathing her sword. She watches him go. Though she says nothing Bethany knows that she is livid at having been questioned. The rest of the evening Meredith is withdrawn and irritable. They keep their silence and return to the Gallows not long after.

"I'm sorry," Bethany says when Meredith walks her to her room.

Meredith brushes a kiss to Bethany's forehead but leaves without another word.

* * *

The senior enchanters repeatedly shoot down her ideas. At first they do so under a veil of firm guidance; later they blatantly ignore her and don't tell her when their meetings will be held. The games are more fitting for young apprentices, not the senior enchanters and policy makers of the Circle. Bethany has a new study beside Orsino's in the templar hall. She sits in it and quietly seethes.

Knight-Commander Meredith visits her. When there are no others present she reclines casually against the door frame. Bethany looks up to her with a degree of embarrassment. "Sometimes I think the only reason I was promoted to senior enchanter is because one of them died," she says. It's easy to lead a long, dull life in the Circle. Contrary to popular belief the most common cause of death is old age. "They don't want me here."

"The role of the First Enchanter is to facilitate relations between mages and templars. They bring their concerns to me and they in turn try to reassure the Circle mages that we are here for their protection. The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander are meant to have a close relationship of mutual respect and discourse."

"I am not the First Enchanter." And doesn't Meredith hate Orsino?

Meredith smirks mildly. "No, you aren't. You're too young, of course, but in time…" She goes to Bethany's desk, touching her fingertips down on the edge of the wood. "They do not like you because you adhere to and believe in the roles and duty that we are meant to play. You embody traits that they sorely lack and pretend to have."

Bethany sets the end of her quill in an ink well. She does not like to trade gossip about the mages to the templars and vice versa. She prefers not to encourage rivalries. "Maybe I should return to being enchanter. Or just a mage… I don't like all of these politics. Why can't things ever be what they're meant to be?"

"Because everywhere we look is a lie," Meredith stands straighter. "You will not rescind your position. You will attend the next meeting. The First Enchanter, as well as the other senior enchanters have been instructed to communicate to both of us about when they will meet."

"They'll only resent me more for it. The two of us."

"If they resent doing their duty then we will find others to do it for them." She goes to the door and looks back at her. "I've written the Champion requesting her aid in capturing three dangerous apostates, your Emile de Launcet amongst them. There is word that he is a blood mage."

"Emile?" Bethany's expression crinkles. "No. I don't believe it. He can't be." Emile may be hapless and in desperate need of a date but it doesn't make him a blood mage. "There must be a mistake." Why hunt Emile de Launcet as a blood mage? When there are others… She thinks of Grace.

"Regardless I trust the Champion to do what is right. I thought you should hear it from me. I hope you will behave appropriately if he is to be terminated. That is all." She turns to leave but stops when Bethany calls to her.

"No matter what's between us, I will not forgive you the death of an innocent mage."

"Watch your tone; you're not the First Enchanter, yet. If he is truly innocent you will have nothing to forgive," Meredith says walking out.

First Enchanter Orsino passes by moments later. "Trouble in paradise?"

Bethany grinds her teeth.

* * *

"He was brought here, alive," Bethany says marching into Meredith's study, "and now there's no sign of him. Where is he?" Meredith doesn't look up from her paperwork. "Where is he?" she demands.

Bethany's voice is too shrill and loud, it rings like a high pitched sound, like a buzzing. "Close the door." She hears the door close but looks through her paperwork when Bethany remains standing agitatedly by her desk. "The mage Emile de Launcet was found guilty of blood magic. He rejected my peace offering of tranquility; as such he was mercifully taken from this world."

Bethany is silent. Meredith looks at her; Bethany's eyes have filled with tears. Her voice remains controlled. "What proof was there that he was a blood mage?"

"His own admission. We have accounts from multiple witnesses; he bragged about being maleficarum." Who does such a thing? Meredith rubs at her forehead. She has a headache and many matters to attend to, including writing a letter to the Compte de Launcet. She does not need an indignant senior enchanter telling her how to do her job. "Your sister did not disagree."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't need to believe me. I will not rest until every blood mage has been exited from this world. They're everywhere, don't you understand? Years ago a blood mage tried to infiltrate the order. There may already be blood mages in our midst; I will not take chances!" She gets to her feet. That infernal whispering, just out of reach, she focuses on Bethany. Where are those words coming from? She knows how a blood mage will control the minds of others. "You know what they can do, it doesn't matter the face they wear. Think of my sister, think of your mother!" she fights to pull the emotion from her voice and is able to continue more calmly. "Better to put a mage out of his misery than risk the lives of countless others. They were not meant to exist in the first place."

"The Maker put us here."

"Even the Maker makes mistakes!"

Bethany stares at her. Meredith feels a cold trickle down her spine. No. The Maker does not make mistakes. What are these words she's saying? She does not believe them. Mages may be stupid and prone to corruption but they are still the children of the Maker. She takes unsteady breaths. It is too hot. "What is that?" she asks Bethany quietly. "What is that – don't you hear it? What are you thinking?" Is it the same as she's thinking? Could Bethany be a blood mage? No, not her. Not under her very nose. Bethany could not; she would not betray her so.

"I feel sick," Bethany says shakily.

"As do I." She steadies her weight on the desk and slowly sits back down. She is sweating. She wipes the perspiration from her face and takes deep breaths. "Do not hate me, Bethany, for doing as I must. Don't you know that anyone can hide their true intentions behind an innocent veneer? I have only done what is necessary; I have always told you…"

"Do you hate me? Could you ever trust me? Look at me. Look at me and tell me that you really thought that Emile was a blood mage, look me in the eye and confess it to me because I cannot trust you again, I cannot ever trust you again if you only did this based on suspicions and paranoia and… vindictiveness. You have been on edge for some time, others have been whispering about you."

"What have they been saying?"

"It doesn't matter. But I need to trust you or my belief in you and the Circle and the templars—"

Meredith stands shakily and rounds the desk. She meets Bethany's eyes. "I have been under duress for some time. I believe that the First Enchanter may be working against me. I know how you value him but admiration alone cannot make truth a falsehood." She lowers her voice. "I believe that some of these loosed blood mages have been released by him."

"That's mad."

Meredith scowls. Of course Bethany doesn't believe her. Why are they all so blind? The Maker challenges her every day, giving her faith and none to others. It is up to her to bring them to the Maker, to make believers out of them all. "We shall see who is mad in time." Bethany continues to glare at her. Meredith takes Bethany's face in her hands. "Emile de Launcet was a danger." The quiet words begin to press to her ear again, if only she could make them out. All that she knows is that her guard must never falter. She forges forward. "Others will be safe because he is gone. You must believe me. You of all people know how I abhor the loss of an innocent and you and I both know what's at stake."

Bethany stares into her face. Then she begins to weep. She crumples down and sits awkwardly on the edge of the desk, crying, not bothering to hide her tears.

Meredith is bewildered. "Why do you cry? He was guilty."

It takes Bethany some time to get the words out. "Just because someone isn't innocent doesn't mean that you can't mourn their loss. Oh, Emile. You fool. You stupid, stupid fool." She continues to cry.

Meredith tries to focus on the whispered words that seem to surround her. Bethany does not appear to hear them. It is only natural that the Maker would not speak to a mage.

* * *

Bethany keeps her back to Meredith, pulling the pillow close to her. Day by day she grows unsettled. Orsino has spoken to her on many occasions warning her about Meredith, telling her that the Knight-Commander grows unhinged by the day. Bethany does not want to believe it. The tensions between the mages and the chantry have never been higher. If it gets out of control, if mages keep running away, if innocents keep being murdered by blood mages it reflects badly on Meredith. That's all it is. Is she fooling herself? She wishes for guidance but no longer trusts Orsino or Meredith to provide it for her. Is she sleeping with the enemy?

She feels Meredith get up from the bed. Bethany shifts to see Meredith have another drink of lyrium. Sometimes she wonders if Meredith's problem is much like Samson's own but Meredith never looks less than radiant whereas Samson had looked like a used up shell of a human. "Is that good for you?" Bethany asks. Meredith doesn't deign her with a response. "Do you ever think about Thrask? What do you imagine he thought that night? Could he have spoken to anyone about it?" It was over a year ago already but though Meredith never speaks of it Bethany can't help but to think about it. Why doesn't Meredith consider it? Will not addressing it mean it didn't happen? It isn't like Meredith to not nip something in the bud.

"Thrask would be a fool to engage in open rebellion with me. Nevertheless, I've asked Cullen to keep close attention to him and his close colleagues."

"Oh." So she has thought about it and not spoken to her of it. Bethany doesn't know if she ought to be reassured or not. "Is this going to work?" she asks Meredith. Meredith glances at her. "Are we going to work? Orsino thinks I'm blind to you."

"I think you are blind to Orsino."

Bethany sighs. "Lately we disagree more than agree." She had meant her and Meredith but she thinks the same applies to her and Orsino as well. Sometimes she wonders if she is right to argue with them; they are older and more knowledgeable.

"You were the one to say that too many agreements is ignorant."

"But arguing all the time isn't much better." She sits up on the bed. Meredith wears a robe, the sash tied efficiently around her trim waist. Meredith returns to the bed with a small white box in hand, a red bow wrapped decorously around it. "What's this?"

"A measure of my trust."

Bethany takes the box and tugs the red ribbon free. She pulls the top of the box away and looks inside. A vial of blood. It pulses wildly. "Is this…" Bethany's heart beats uncontrollably. She lifts it delicately. "My phylactery?" she says breathless. "Why…" The implications are dizzying. The Knight-Commander has returned to Bethany the collar and leash that binds her. Bethany is not naïve; she knows how many of the devoted mages of the Circle would flee instantly upon having their phylactery returned to them or destroyed. How else might they be hunted down?

"I know that I am difficult to bear. I am aware that you are unhappy with me; you think I do not trust you. That is yours to keep. You may destroy it if that's what you prefer." Bethany carefully sets it back down in the box carefully. "I only hope that this provides you with some peace of mind."

"What of yours? Meredith… if anyone found out…"

"They will not. If they do… I'll resolve the situation."

"I don't want anyone endangered because of me." Bethany insists. She has learned to pick up on what Meredith means when she says things diplomatically. Meredith smiles wryly. Bethany covers the box. "This means… so much to me. You have no idea how much it means but I can't accept it. I cannot… every other mage of the Circle has a phylactery."

"I do not trust them."

"But maybe you should." Bethany insists. "Some of us want to be here. Many of us understand why the Circle exists and we're grateful." She sets the box aside cautiously and smiles with relief. All the worry and doubts of before slip away from her as if they'd never existed. "I want to be with you, where ever you are. I may not need my phylactery but you don't either. I want to always be at your side."

"You trust me still? Despite how the others try to poison you against me?"

The word choice is strong. Bethany can't deny that mages all over the Circle don't approach her in her study and whisper of their misgivings about Meredith. She cannot fault them for their doubts, nor can she fault the templars. Bethany tries always to be encouraging and to instill an open minded attitude for both parties. Not that there's much she can say that will really convince the mages. The templars hold mages captive and can kill one whenever they see fit. The abuses have not stopped simply because Alrik is gone; though she does believe they have lessened. "I trust you," Bethany says.

The tightness to Meredith's jaw diminishes; her mouth relaxes into a soft smile. Bethany kisses her until their mouths meld together. Meredith remains sitting but pulls Bethany to her aggressively. Bethany straddles her. She yanks fiercely at Meredith's robe but doesn't allow their kiss to break.

* * *

"Are you aware that your phylactery has gone missing?" Orsino asks her. Bethany is momentarily petrified. Orsino had beckoned her to his study only minutes ago. He had gone over several details of the upcoming meetings, the items on the agenda and which templars were to be in attendance. Orsino stares at her. "I see that the news is as shocking to you as it was to me."

Bethany wonders where the phylactery has gone to. She had assumed that Meredith would return it. Perhaps she only sought to keep it in case… Bethany can think of no good conclusion: Meredith has kept it in case she decides to run away after all or Meredith has kept it to keep her safe from others that might hunt her. Or perhaps it was returned and someone else has taken it. Bethany feels ill. "How has this happened?"

"I've heard word from someone I trust, someone who keeps an eye on these matters." He doubles over the desk, his fingers tightly clenched together. "Phylacteries do not get displaced; it's difficult to gain access to them. There are guards and rites, templars… Whoever took it must have had good reason." He stares at her.

Bethany is still struck silent. She eventually regains composure. "What… typically happens when a phylactery has gone missing? It can't happen often."

"In the past it's only happened when templars have aided mages in escaping. Obviously you're still here." He stands and paces the room. "If a templar has taken it without your knowledge then I would urge caution. I know you like to believe the best in people but … it may be that someone has plans for you."

"Like who? Like what?"

Orsino shakes his head. "I don't know. The truth is…that you're not as popular here as I would have initially imagined. I thought we could show you to the world. Perhaps Cullen and the Knight-Commander picked up on that plan. Better to show them an elf as a first enchanter than someone like you. You normalize us. You appeal to people; you're the most dangerous element to the templars who would condemn us all as demons. On the other hand… there are mages who don't think you speak loudly enough for us; there are some templars who feel the same."

"So everyone bloody hates me, that's it?"

Orsino smiles grimly. "All except for me and the Knight-Commander it would seem, a damning thing to be sure."

Bethany nods absently. Then she stands. "This can all be resolved by taking my blood again."

He makes a face and raises a hand as if to stop an unnecessary idea. "Let's take advantage of this opportunity. There's no point in giving them any more ammunition." He senses her hesitation. "You are always displeased with me it would seem. This would give you freedom should you choose to take it."

She frowns. "That isn't the point of the Circle. You as First Enchanter should know that most of all. I know you don't think very much of me. Yet you'd allow my missing phylactery. What of other mages who you might feel more kindly towards?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is that the man who murdered my mother was an escaped Circle mage. A phylacterie might have been useful," she says coldly.

Orsino glares at her. "Just go."

* * *

Sometimes Bethany is still unsure whether she trusts herself. Is she too hard on Orsino? Is she too lenient on Meredith? Is she a hypocrite? She isn't sure. She resolves to go to Meredith and give her blood for another phylactery. Her anger has subdued since the years of her mother's and Alrik's deaths. Her bitterness and anger, however, haven't gone altogether. If something ever happened to Meredith or Hawke, what would she do? Who would she become? _What _would she become? Hawke would say she was being ridiculous. Meredith would say her fear is warranted and Orsino would say that she could do no foul thing. She isn't sure who is right. She can't quell her storm of thoughts. She walks aimlessly through the halls of the Circle in a fugue state. In retrospect, she should have been more vigilant as Orsino had asked. She is snatched so quickly that she is still reeling when she's slammed into the stone walls of the small room. The door to the outside, to safety, is closed.

"Are you a blood mage?" Thrask demands pushing her to the wall. He is enflamed. Bethany goes on alert. She doesn't know what room this is. "The Knight-Commander would never take a mage to Hightown. What scheme is this? Are you controlling her? Is this your work?"

"I am no blood mage!" She says trying to push his forearm that presses to her throat away. It is no use. He is too strong and using magic against a templar would be unwise for many reasons. Why this so suddenly? It has been some time since the incident in Hightown. She remains pressed to the wall, the pressure to her neck increasing and her head growing foggy from lack of air. Her face reddens and he loosens his hold to allow her breathing room. "Why are you questioning either one of us?"

"Someone must!" Thrask says. "Day by day her atrocities and injustices grow and no one dares speak against her. Why is she so taken by you if you aren't controlling her? Meredith hates you all; the best mage is a dead mage."

"This is ludicrous; let me go or Maker help me—"

"What?" He asks. Bethany can't think of a follow up. The threat was empty and he called her on it. "How can you willingly turn against your own kind?"

"I have done no such thing!"

"You condone her actions, her policies! Don't you know your placement as a Senior Enchanter was only her means of controlling you and the Circle further!?" Bethany keeps pushing on his arm but abandons the effort; she is not a match for his strength. "The First Enchanter had such hopes for you; we all had hopes for the Champion! Why are the two of you so against mages? What compels you to stand at her side? If it were blood magic—"

"She is no blood mage." It is Grace. For the first time, Bethany notices that there are others in the room. For the past few minutes she had fixed her eyes on Thrask and his threats but now she sees that there are others present. Grace, Alain, Keran, others. "She has never had to fear for her life; she has always been surrounded by strong arms willing to cut others down for her sake but as soon as it is the plight of another mage, it is irrelevant, it is heresy to fight back."

"That isn't true," Bethany says through gritted teeth.

"She has never known the terror that compels defenseless mages to turn to blood magic; they want only to survive and she would deny us all!" Grace says turning to the other mages in the room. "What more can you expect from the Knight-Commander's whore? Oh yes, I see it clearly now," Grace steps close to Bethany; Thrask turns his attention back and forth from both women. "The Knight-Commander is slipping it to the very senior enchanter she placed!" She laughs contemptuously. "This betrayal will not stand," Grace says to Thrask. "Her sister is the one who forced me and the others here; we have lost some of our members to the abuses of the templars! The Champion killed my Decimus for trying to _survive._ This, _bitch_, supports Meredith, I'm sure that she spies on us and gives her reports. She cannot live," she tells Thrask.

"No!" Thrask's eyes grow wide. "We will not harm her. Are you mad? She's the Champion's sister. And if it is as you say, if the Knight-Commander and she—"

"The Knight-Commander cares for no one," Grace says, "she will thank us for taking another mage from this world. You can't release her now; she has seen our faces. She will run straight to Meredith!"

"We will take her," Thrask looks fiercely at Grace, "and we will demand that the Champion side with us. If we have Bethany, the Champion cannot stand against us; she will have to give in to our demands. Bethany will have no choice but to fall in line. The Champion is a good person; deep down she must know that our cause is what's right. Her companions will agree; she works with apostates."

"And still she turned us in. For years we've been left here to rot," Grace growls.

"And now we rise to break the shackles that have held us all." Thrask sets his eyes on Bethany. "You _will _aid our cause." He resumes the pressure to Bethany's neck.

"I will not!" The words come out like a fierce whisper. "My sister will never give into your demands; she will not give in to tyranny."

"Tyranny!" Grace says with a jaded laugh.

Bethany ignores her. "This is mutiny; this is not how the Circle and templars are to work together!"

Grace looks at Thrask. "This one will not keep her mouth shut; if she's aware and conscious she will argue with her sister to not aid us."

"Do you really think you'll accomplish anything this way?" Bethany asks. "You only look like the lunatic blood mages that everyone fears. My sister, nor the Knight-Commander will ever give in to your demands."

Grace smirks. She grabs Bethany's chin forcefully and digs her nails into her face. "We'll see." She lets her go. "Tie her up; gag her. We don't want to carry such a useless lump to the Wounded Coast. Once we're there we'll handle her and the Champion."

Thrask releases his hold but just as suddenly presses her face first into the wall. Bethany frowns; her eyes sting furiously. She is enraged but there is little she can do. Thrask binds her arms fiercely behind her, wrapping the thick, prickly rope around her wrists until they hurt and the blood flow is mostly cut from them. "You will not get away with this," Bethany threatens.

"You will see that what we do is right," Thrask says though he says so nervously. "It will be all right, Bethany. We won't harm you; no harm will come to you. We're just trying to make you and your sister see the natural order of things." He forces a cloth over her mouth and jerks her away from the wall to stand still before the group of mages and templars. Bethany glares at them all.

"Don't get any funny ideas," Grace tells her. "You don't need to make it to the Wounded Coast in one piece. All we need is for the Champion to think that we have you; once she shows up we'll make easy work of her."

Thrask looks at the group of men and women before them. "You all know your tasks. You all know that this is right. Do not falter in your duties. Remember that this pretty face has been Meredith's conspirator for years; she is not your ally." Grace crosses her arms and smirks confidently. "Let's go. Today we change our future for the better."

* * *

The walk to the Wounded Coast takes longer than usual. They throw a dark cloak over her. It makes the scorching sun unbearable. Her body is soaked in sweat and she's parched. Thrask surprises her by offering her water in a wine skin. Bethany drinks it greedily before she's gagged with the cloth again. The cloak keeps slipping over her eyes making it hard to see. With her arms bound behind her she can do nothing. She tries to find a way out of her predicament but fails.

Thrask and Grace talk on the walk over along with the groups of mages and templars, some are students, some older than her. None are willing to help her. When she loses her footing they wait for her to recover before continuing along. If they deem that she's taking too long they jerk her to her feet. They call her names.

Eventually they arrive at their destination. The cloak is ripped from her and thrown to the side. "The Champion should be on her way," Thrask tells Grace before looking at Bethany who tries to shield her eyes from the sun. She's unused to seeing it so clearly and it blinds her. "We have your phylactery; the other templars won't be able to find you. Sorry, but it isn't a risk we could afford to take." He pulls the gag from her mouth and she tries to regain feeling on her lips that are much too dry. "First we have to put you under. If the Champion doesn't believe you're in danger then this will all have been for nothing.

"How exactly do you plan to put me under?" Bethany asks in a harsh whisper.

"Don't you worry," Grace withdraws a knife from her side. In the light of the sun she looks like a dark shadow. Grace slides the blade along the palm of her hand until the blood flows freely. A moment later she whips it to the side. At first Bethany thinks that Grace has missed, then she feels the sting on her cheek and the cold of her blood trailing down her face. "Hold her," she tells Thrask. Thrask holds Bethany obediently. Grace presses her bleeding hand to Bethany's cut. Her fingers are hot along her face. Bethany knows little of blood magic but she suspects it all the same.

"Please," Bethany says.

Grace is unmoved. "Sleep."

Bethany's head drops and her eyes close. Her body falls to the ground like rocks. The sand burns her skin. She listens to the mages and templars engage in conversation. It sounds as if she's only hearing it from under water. She is unable to move but she can hear them. She can hear Grace's voice most clearly of all. It fills her mind.

_I know that you can hear me, Bethany. Thrask meant what he said—he wants all of us to come together and stand against Knight-Commander Meredith but I would not return to that prison. We are free now. Our numbers grow by the day. Soon your Champion bitch of a sister will show up and I will kill her. I will kill her slowly and after you've heard her die, I'll kill you. And Thrask. And anyone else who dares to stand in my way._

Bethany can't even whimper.

* * *

When Alain brings her to she's surrounded by a sea of dead bodies. Bethany tearlessly looks at them all but can't force herself to feel anything. She's been subdued by blood magic, brought to by blood magic: she feels violated. The faces of those whom she'd thought of as friends are dead, the ones whom she should have warned Orsino and Meredith about are dead and have killed others. Maker, she has made so many mistakes… The sand has absorbed a great deal of blood, making it thick and sticky. She pulls her fingers away. She looks up and sees Hawke and Alain.

Hawke's face is covered in blood. Leave it to her sister to make it look fashionable. "You sure do like to get yourself into scrapes," Hawke says, stretching an arm out to pull Bethany to her feet. "It's a good thing you have a dashing older sister to come to your rescue." Bethany mutters a thank you. "I'm happy you're safe."

Bethany smacks at the sand that clings to her robe. She still can't process what has happened. "I'm sorry you have to keep doing this, Hawke. If something ever happens to me—"

"Don't say it, Bethany."

"I just want you to know—"

"Don't." Hawke says. Bethany bows her head. Hawke runs her fingers along the top of her sister's head. "All this heart work you're doing on me is payback for not taking you to the Deep Roads, isn't it?" Hawke smiles but Bethany can see she's bothered. Hawke continues before Bethany can respond. "Are all mages out of their bloody mind?"

"And templars too, it would seem." She rubs at her wrists. "I just want to go home." She realizes what she's said. "I'm sorry. I hate that they've used you this way, to get to me, to get to you." To get to Meredith.

"The Hawke sisters have always known how to start a fuss. Don't let it bother you; I'll spin this into something to impress all the pretties in Hightown."

"I'm glad you've found a good use for me at last."

"You know it. Anyway, if it makes you feel any better everyone uses me. It's not always fun. At least all this running around keeps me in shape."

"Right." Bethany says softly.

"Are you still angry at me? Last time we met—you weren't exactly happy to see me."

"Sorry. I was being immature. Deep Roads or not, this is where we are now. Who knows what would have happened if I'd gone. I'm not angry anymore. You always did your best for me." She looks at all the dead bodies and their twisted faces and limbs. Some limbs aren't attached. "We can't ever escape bloodshed, can we?"

"We both look to have a talent for it." Hawke looks into the distance. Cullen is approaching. "What do you suppose will happen with the templars and the mages? Has being in the Circle given you any sort of clarity?"

"Everyone thinks they're right and everyone else is wrong."

"Except you?" Hawke asks with a grin.

Bethany wishes she could smile. "If only. Sometimes I think I don't know anything. No one is completely right and no one is completely wrong. But everyone is too stubborn and steeped in tradition to try to change things." She sighs. "I'm just tired of being scared all the time. This thing… all of this business with the Chantry and the mages, Hawke… it's not going to end well."

"I knew Varric called you Sunshine for a reason."

Cullen reaches them and their conversation comes to an end. Bethany only half listens to what Cullen and Hawke talk about. She knows all she needs to know. Soon she will say goodbye to Hawke and return to the Circle. She isn't safe in the Circle or outside of the Circle. Is she safe anywhere?

* * *

A new phylactery sits on Meredith's writing desk in her bedroom. She ignores Bethany's offering for the time being. Samson has been reinstated and Alain has been killed. If Bethany objects to Meredith's decision, she doesn't say so.

Bethany's face is sunburned. The woman has said little since returning from the Wounded Coast. Cullen has told Meredith how they subjected Bethany to their blood magic. Is she contaminated too now? Will she have to destroy Bethany like the others?

Maker give her strength. Maker give her wisdom. Meredith repeats the words in her mind like a mantra. She needs all the wisdom and strength that she can get. The final days are approaching.

It has finally come to this. The templars are conspiring with mages against her and all of Kirkwall. Blood mages have infiltrated her guard; she had always kept close watch but she only has so many eyes and apparently she could not trust them all. Soon all of Kirkwall will run wild with abominations; there will be scores of innocent deaths if she does not hunt the maleficarum down.

What's most frightening is that Thrask turned against her to help maleficarum, the lowest of the low. Thrask who has been a member of the order for so many years. If Thrask can turn against her then Cullen can turn against her. The First Enchanter has never been with her. The mages resent her for doing her duty. Only the Maker has faith in her now; she will not abandon Him as the masses have.

She looks at Bethany apprehensively. The only trustworthy mage is a tranquil mage. And still Meredith would not see Bethany robbed of that which makes her… that makes her so dear to Meredith. Bethany's gaze on her is cautious; she is waiting for a blow. She is waiting for Meredith to be the monster everyone makes her to be. She will not give them the satisfaction of turning Bethany against her. Meredith absentmindedly picks up the phylactery and crushes it in her slender fingers.

Bethany's blood drips from Meredith's hands. Shreds of broken glass are buried in her fingers. Meredith doesn't notice. Her face is hard as a diamond. There is a hymn in her head, swelling like a choir.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to T.A.M. for reminding me to put this final chapter up. And thanks all of you for reading again. Twenty some pages. Have at it!

* * *

They're taking them in the dead of night. Before the sun peeks over the horizon, new apostates are turning up in the Circle, their faces battered and bleeding—they are not allowed healers. Their punishment is to recover like any human that hasn't been tainted by magic. As for their families—the templars tell the mages their families are best forgotten. Day by day the Circle empties more. Apprentices, mages and enchanters are disappearing. The tower is being gutted.

Bethany knows only fear. She cannot pretend that she is too imaginative nor can she deny the strain in Orsino's face. Everyone is on edge. Even the templars look tired and skittish. The mages are being sent underground, but whether it is to the cold stone dungeons or to their death she cannot say. Nor can she say which of the two is more merciful.

She prays to the Maker but gets no answers.

She writes a letter to Hawke:

_All the horror stories I heard before coming to the Circle, spouted often by A. have at long last come to pass. There are many empty rooms and silent halls. All of us are afraid to speak, we are bound. Even a glance can be misread and templars will take it upon themselves to reprimand us. I can't say that I know what is going on outside these walls, Sister, but something must be done. I only wish I could… _

Bethany hesitates before grinding her jaw and continuing.

_The Templar Order has been compromised. We have both faced many blood mages throughout the years. I thought they, more than the templars were the greater danger. However, this distrust of all mages, of all magic, of any question has spread through the templar order like a sickness. Do not trust them. Do not trust Meredith. I will do what I can from here but I think that she is past reasoning._

Bethany quickly folds the letter_. _She seals it, using a candle flame to melt the crimson wax into place—the templars disapprove of magic being used anywhere outside a classroom setting. Normally she might use her custom seal but she doesn't want to give herself or Hawke away. The letter is written but she is soon presented with another dilemma: she doesn't know how to send the letter.

There is no templar she can trust. The realization is heart wrenching. She has spent a third of her life in the Circle. The majority of that time has been peaceful. The men and the women of the templars have been honest and properly devoted to the Maker. Meredith had shown her kindness that she had never thought she'd see anywhere in the Circle, especially from the dreaded Knight-Commander.

There is a part of Bethany that is still convinced that the templar men and women are good people. She has known them throughout the years. People don't change overnight. She thinks of Meredith, regal and majestic, her first lover. The only lover Bethany has ever wanted. She knows that Meredith loves her; she knows how it pains Meredith that Bethany is a mage. It is a slap in the face to everything she believes and upholds. Despite that, she has always treated her as best as she can for someone who is ultimately… Bethany brings a hand to her forehead and releases a shaky breath. Maybe Meredith regards her as a test.

She needs to deliver the letter. Orsino isn't to leave the Gallows and any letter he were to attempt to deliver would undergo scrutiny. She stands in the hallway, contemplating when Knight-Captain Cullen approaches her. His eyes are circled dark lately. He is pale. The recent events have marked him. He nods to her and she nods back nervously.

"Good evening," he says to her.

Cullen is one of the better templars despite his oft spoken distrust and hatred of them. She has never seen him abuse any of the mages (then again, she can say she has not seen any templar abuse a mage) nor has she ever heard stories of him. "Knight-Captain," she tries to keep any anxiousness at bay. "Busy night?"

"We never rest. Neither do you, it would appear." His eyes shift to her hand. "Is that a letter? Have you need of a courier?" Cullen outstretches his hand to take the letter from her.

Bethany's heart nearly strangles her it has jumped so high. She has no choice but to give it to him. It would appear suspicious if she were not to. "I would appreciate that," she says, her voice a tad too dry and hoarse. "Thank you."

Cullen nods. "The hour is late. Get some rest, Bethany." He moves down the hallway with her letter in hand. She knows perfectly well the sound of the sword at his side and can clearly imagine how it scrapes against the sheath when being drawn. If he opens the letter, she may hear how it sounds as it cuts into her. She swallows the lump in her throat and returns to her room where she anxiously paces. She wants to see Meredith, she wants to appeal to her but does not know how to. Bethany, like Meredith, has spent many evenings on her own, sequestered.

How did it all come to this?

* * *

"I have heard word on the situation outside of the Gallows," Orsino tells Bethany gravely.

She sees him more these days. Over the last few years he has grown into a quiet mentor for her and she a quiet confidante for his suspicions. It is eerie how things change. She had always thought him too permissive and optimistic. In his fervor to aid mages he may have damned them by being too vocal, too aggressive, too accusatory of the templar order and the chantry. Now as the stitches of their world come undone Bethany thinks that she may have judged him too harshly. Maybe Orsino is the champion that the mages need… he may be the only one who can stand up to the templars and to…Her. "Go on." She suspects that she does not want to hear.

Orsino tells her what he knows, evidence gathered by not only those free apostates, but by Kirkwall citizens and the rare and exceptional templar sympathizers who are leery of Knight-Commander Meredith's work. Orsino trusts their word above all others and says so grimly.

The templars who exit the Gallows and participate in the night raids speak that homes and hovels all over Kirkwall have been emptied. There are many counted amongst the conspirators: those who aid mages, those who hide their family apostate, those who suspect apostates and do not report immediately to a templar with their suspicion, those who inquire too vocally of empty homes, those who do make light of the Chantry, those who dare to criticize the templar order and Knight-Commander Meredith.

"The situation is grisly," he has aged, as much as any elf can age. His hair is paler than it was before and there are lines around his eyes and mouth that weren't there before. "Can you speak to her?" He asks quietly. The door is ajar. "You are the only one with any influence."

"I'm not the Maker. He's the only one she follows." She won't pretend to not know what he is talking about. Fortunately, she suspects only Orsino and Cullen have any inkling of that relation. The others who might have known died at the Wounded Coast. "I'm worried about her."

"Worry about yourself..!" he says exasperated.

The door to Orsino's study opens and two helmed templars walk in. They exchange looks. All that Bethany can see is the shadowed slot where eyes should be. They look like possessed armor. Their metal hands are wrapped tightly around the hilts of their swords. Their meaning is clear.

"What is it?" Orsino asks them without bothering to mask the hostility in his voice. "This is my study." The templars remain silent. "Are mages no longer allowed to have discussion without a templar presence? Do you think we're sitting here, conspiring?"

The templars do not respond. They stand at the doors as if to guard any exit. Bethany sits up on the chair and crosses one leg over the other.

"You are free to continue your conversation," one of the templars says. His voice is disembodied and hollow from behind the helmet. Orsino glares at them but Bethany abandons the idea of any genuine talk from this point forward. She begins to discuss lesson plans with Orsino and he follows along grudgingly. The talk is petty and largely dull but neither templar leaves until Bethany separates to attend to other matters.

* * *

Night has fallen and Meredith has been called once more to Elthina's side. Elthina wastes no time.

"A message has been sent to me through an agent of the Most Holy Divine. I have been asked to leave Kirkwall. There is some speculation that there is a plot against me by rebel mages intent on…" Elthina pauses thoughtfully. "Intent on making a stand and forcing my hand."

"They will not succeed," Meredith says assuredly before her features begin to twist with rage. "You must not bow to these cowards, these apostates! You cannot leave this city, Your Grace. I forbid it! I will not let them win this way!"

"Have you forgotten that it is you that answers to me?" Elthina asks sharply. Meredith clenches her fist but bows her head before kneeling in apology to her. "There's no need for that," Elthina says softly. She touches a hand to Meredith's red hood, her fingers sliding to Meredith's chin with only the softest pressure lifting upward. Meredith rises. "In any case, I have no intention of abandoning my flock. I will not leave Kirkwall. If the Maker chooses to take me, the Maker will take me."

"You are wise as always, Your Grace," Meredith says with some relief. "I will send a number of templars here so that you are safe from any heretics. These maleficarum will not prevail. I will not let them take you or any other innocent from this world. The Maker guides me, Your Grace. I will not be impeded in my duty."

"There is no need for templars here. I fear nothing. Whatever comes to pass it will be just as the Maker wanted." Elthina sees Meredith's disapproving look. "You disagree."

"The Maker does not simply wish for us to wait for Him. We must take matters into our own hands, only then will He aid us in our cause."

Meredith speaks truthfully and still Elthina harbors hesitation. "You look…tired, Meredith." Elthina appraises the Knight-Commander. Her blue eyes shine more brightly than ever, they are sharp like broken glass but Elthina wonders if she sees clearly. They flick in directions as if seeing things that aren't there. Meredith doesn't respond. She keeps her hands tightly around the railing that overlooks the entry to the chantry. "I wanted to tell you that whatever happens—this is my choice and it is surely the Maker's plan. If something is to happen—"

"Nothing will happen."

"If something _does _– you cannot… You must remember your vows to the Maker, to the Chantry, to the mages. You are the Knight-Commander. It is your responsibility to set the standard. For years people have thought your methods too cruel. I don't like to think of what new methods you may resort to if something were to happen to the Grand Cleric."

"To _you_, Elthina. Not the Grand Cleric."

Elthina can't help a smile. "I will trust you to do what's right. And if you don't," she adds with a gentle warning, "The Seekers will." The name of the order makes Meredith's eyes go sharper than ever.

* * *

Knight-Captain Cullen reads the letter to her and then sets it on Knight-Commander Meredith's desk. "It was with a collection of others and unsigned. One of the readers brought it to my attention. No doubt they sought to sneak it through." He stands with his arms behind his back. "The familiarity with which the writer speaks suggests—"

"Thank you, Cullen. I'll take it from here." Meredith waits for the click of the door before snatching the letter in her hands. She inadvertently rips the corners before slamming it down onto the desk as if it were a fiend. She reads the words again and recognizes the handwriting—she has letters written in the same hand stored safely in a drawer in her bedroom. The letters in her bedroom speak more favorably to her. They melt instead of freeze.

Meredith rises. An icy chill stabs into her until she is numb. A cold sweat washes over her. She wipes at her brow with the back of her hand before straightening. She steps outside of her study. The First Enchanter is in his study, the door open, speaking to some students. Meredith ignores them and moves one door down.

The door is open. Meredith enters and closes it. She walks calmly to the desk, unfolds the letters and sets it delicately in front of Bethany. Bethany looks at the letter. Her jaw tenses. So it is true. What Meredith had repelled forces its way through—she feels a violent jab like a knife into her heart. "Do not think to lie to me," she is barely able to get the words out. There are no words for this betrayal.

Bethany looks at the letter and then up to Meredith. She doesn't stand. She doesn't respond.

Meredith doesn't pace even as her mind feels as if it is being pulled in every direction. How foolish she had been, to be fooled by a beautiful face. She had betrayed her, in the end, just as she had expected and still Meredith cannot bring herself to do what must be done. She forces herself to speak. "If you were any other mage…" Her words tighten and then release like a breath. "Write it again." Bethany doesn't respond. Meredith moves around the desk. She secures a blank sheet of paper from the desk and shoves it in front of Bethany. She squeezes Bethany's shoulder firmly. "Pick up your quill." Bethany doesn't. Meredith takes Bethany's hand forcefully. Bethany resists. Meredith uncoils Bethany's fingers and forces the quill into her hand before closing her fingers around it. She hates to do this. "I will dictate what you write."

"I won't write anything that you ask," Bethany says stubbornly.

Meredith breathes deeply and grinds her teeth so fiercely that they ache. Bethany's look is not contemptuous but it is defiant. How could Bethany do such a thing? There is nothing left to believe in but the Maker. "If you do not write what I ask you will be sent to the prison."

"You would do that?"

"You would do this," Meredith says banging a fist down on the letter Bethany wrote. "Reconsider."

"No."

Meredith pulls away from her, swearing under her breath. "Very well. You will be escorted in an hour's time. There is too much light presently to take you."

"You won't take me?"

"I have worthier matters to devote my time to," she says going to the door. She stalls, waiting for Bethany to stop her, to say anything that will make this right again but Bethany says nothing. Meredith leaves with a heavy heart. The grates on the ceiling shed filtered red light on the hallways.

One of the golden slaves mounted on the walls turns its head to look at her. Meredith stops in her tracks and stares at it wide eyed. It is only a statue. Nothing more. She takes a breath. There are arrangements to be made.

* * *

Bethany is taken after the sunset. She is taken through dark hallways and made to descend claustrophobic shell curved steps. She hears the tapping of water, falling from some place, along with the beat of metal that the templars make with every step. Meredith walks behind her. If it were only the two of them Bethany might try to appeal to her but in the presence of others, she knows, it would be no use.

The dungeons are filled with sickly looking mages, others barely have faces left but there are some that Bethany knows to be suspected blood mages. They look at her unrepentantly and sneer at the templars who pass. She can't say that she recognizes any of the other mages. With all the mages that have gone missing, she had suspected some would be here. Maybe they ran away. Or maybe they're dead.

The templar opens the door to the cell. It creaks open loudly, making her ears ache. She steps aside dutifully and doesn't resist when the templar shoves her inside. She is grateful to not lose her footing. Meredith steps into the cell with her. Bethany swallows her surprise and looks at Meredith's face. It is severe but anguished.

"It is still not too late for you to reconsider," Meredith speaks so that only Bethany can hear.

"Will you reconsider?" Bethany asks. Meredith steps out of the cell and closes the iron barred gate between them. Bethany's wrists are bound behind her. She smiles wryly as Meredith dismisses the templars who came with her. "What happens now? Will I die here?"

"Only you can know that." She stands close to the bars and keeps her voice quiet so that the other captive mages do not hear her. "It is not what I would have happen. You may stand there and look at me with those dark eyes of yours but you are here in one piece, unharmed. That is a testament to my feeling for you."

Bethany turns around and does not respond to her. Her eyes burn at Meredith's brand of kindness. The cruel thing is that for Meredith, it is kindness. She doesn't know how to respond to her. There is nothing appropriate for her to say to Meredith. It is only when she hears Meredith's steps moving away that she is able to catch breath. She gulps it in madly, like a fish out of water.

* * *

Orsino does not ask permission before barging into Meredith's study, enraged. "You've locked her away without so much as a trial, without telling her peers," his words shake with anger. "You are to give all mages a trial, you may not ever bother to do as you say but she is a Senior Enchanter and you have sentenced her without cause!"

"Settle yourself, First Enchanter," Meredith crosses a name off a list and adds another. "You may rant at will but it would be wise to remember that Bethany Hawke is willful and one of your most trusted disciples. Why do you think yourself exempt from any punishment that might befall to you should it turn out that she is innocent?"

Orsino bares his teeth as he speaks. Meredith has always founds his features too sharp; he is like a ghoul or vampire with his pointed teeth and nose and chin. He is all swords. "What is her crime?"

"I do not answer to you, Orsino." Meredith continues preparing her letter and still Orsino hangs by the desk. "Is there something more?"

"Yes," he says with a mirthless smile. "The templars laugh at you behind your back. They whisper that you are not in your mind anymore." Meredith stares at him. Orsino knows that his words have hooked and he continues. "You don't give a damn about the abuses other mages suffer but if you aren't truly the heartless wretch I suspect you are, you will get Bethany out of the dungeons. Unless you are not opposed to sharing her with the men beneath you as communal property. I am hoping and begging that she will not become another convenient oversight."

"Are all elves so prone to hysterical bouts of emotion?" Meredith asks dryly. Regardless, she casually stands and exits her study.

* * *

The dungeons are dark, cold and wet. As she passes through the hallways, dimly lit by torches that snake in the air that passes through the stone walls, Meredith hears sneezing and coughing. Elements and natural disease will take care of some of the prisoners. If they are so hurried to meet the Maker than Meredith will usher them to Him. It was not innocence that led them to their predicament.

She stops in front of Bethany's cell. It smells of wet hay and moss. Bethany is sniffling but Meredith can't tell if the woman cries or if she's merely caught a cold. She sits on the ground with her knees pulled to her. She rests her head back. In the dim light Meredith can see that her face is bruised. She has given no such orders. "Why do you choose to stay here?" Meredith asks. "You are capable of leaving this place at any moment." Bethany doesn't turn to her. She is content to look at the wall. Meredith opens the cell door when Bethany is unresponsive. Bethany doesn't look up at her. "Do you take satisfaction at my unhappiness? Why do you resist me?" Meredith drops to one knee and looks at the woman. She reaches a hand out to touch Bethany's face and expects her to pull back. She doesn't. Meredith allows her hand to settle along the curves of Bethany's face. Bethany emits a soft sigh. Meredith imagines that Bethany still has a tongue; she is alive after all. But refusing to speak.

"You want us all neither seen or heard." Bethany says. Meredith is momentarily alarmed. Has she read her thoughts? "This is appropriate then. In the darkness. Neither seen or heard." Bethany says in a raspy voice. Meredith unknowingly strokes her hair. Bethany shifts to look at her. Meredith returns her gaze. For a moment there is clarity. There is quiet. There is a terrible space but it is real and unquestionable. Bethany's eyes are wet. "Where are you? I see pieces of you now and then but you disappear. You're always there when I'm ready to give up."

Meredith closes her eyes. This is wrong. All of this is wrong. Maker help her. This is not as things should be. This is not what the templar order is meant for. Bethany Hawke should not be on a dungeon floor, bruised. She allows Bethany to draw to her and nestle her face in Meredith's neck. Emotion begins to trickle inside of Meredith, thawing after too long.

Then she hears a noise followed by laughter. "Hey, what's this?" It's a male voice. "I called dibs on her tonight." Meredith rips away from Bethany and stands. The templar, a new recruit assigned to the dungeons is not prepared for her. His eyes double. He goes rigid. "Knight-Commander," he salutes and stammers. "Ma'am." Meredith stares him down. He laughs nervously.

She extends her hand out to him. He looks at it and offers his hand before she knocks it aside. "Sword." He is hesitant but he draws it and gives it to her. He asks if he will be relieved of service. His question is still on his lips when Meredith plunges the sword through him. It slides in like a hot knife through butter. Meredith does not stop until the hilt stops at his armor. He gasps and falls to the ground, speared. She remains expressionless. She questions Bethany though she doesn't look at her. "Did he or the others ever…"

"No. I was lucky."

The blood oozes out of the templar. It reaches to Meredith's boots and she takes a step backward. "Get up." She tells Bethany without feeling. "You are done here." Meredith stares at the dying templar. Behind her she can hear, as if through a fog, Bethany's struggle to rise to her feet. Meredith's eyes cloud over. She is frozen again, snapping to the quick like a winter frost.

* * *

Meredith inspects Bethany wordlessly, searching for every bruise, scratch and mark of abuse. Bethany suspires in response. They do not speak. Bethany only feels contact, the love they have for each other and the self-hatred and contempt they have for themselves.

* * *

The meeting is held in the dining area—it holds the most people outside the courtyard of the Gallows entry. Meredith had told Bethany and Orsino that it was instrumental that Bethany's absence be immediately addressed so as to nip any misconceptions in the bud. She had revealed the plan to Orsino and Bethany so earnestly that both had been silent and accepted the decision without complaint.

"Senior Enchanter Bethany is alive and well," Meredith says. "There have been terrible rumors spreading like fire throughout the Circle. Some of your mentors, who ought to have been guiding you and squelching such fear allowed it to fester." She looks pointedly in Orsino's direction. "Bethany had left to visit some of your other companions who have been moved to other Circles in Thedas, other Circles which are not so populated. She attended to our former members there in need of a familiar and friendly face. Her time away from us was pleasant, was it not, Bethany?"

"It was." Bethany says. She is not adept at lying nor is she ready to spin a story out of thin air like Varric and Isabela. She will leave the tall tales to them.

"And how did you find the students in the other Circles?" Orsino interjects when he sees the students calming with relieved smiles. "How were the other Circles in comparison to this one here in the Gallows?"

Bethany stands between the two and stares straight at the students. The First Enchanter's eyes, as the Knight-Commander's are hot upon her. "The Circle and students were far more at peace than they were here, though the distance, as you may suspect, is quite far and beyond our reach. Let us remember them as they were here."

Orsino tries to bite back a smile and fails. Meredith smiles tightly. "Thank you, Bethany. We will all remember your efforts on our behalf." Meredith turns her attention to the roomful of mages and templars. "Dismissed."

* * *

Bethany still enjoys seeking some state of peace in the small chantry chapel even if she doesn't always see Meredith there. Sometimes prayer does help, sometimes believing in a higher power and having the hope that matters will improve is all that keeps her going. She is returning to her room when she sees the flickering of a candle, seeping out of an open door. She stops. She is mistrustful of mage and apprentice doors ajar in the middle of the night. She sees a large shadow and moves closer, pushing the door open without thinking of peering.

The Templar is Ser Bryant. She remembers him from the dungeons. He is not one of the nicer ones. She heard the things he said to mages and more terribly, heard the things he did to them. She looks to the bed and sees a young apprentice. She doesn't know his name and it saddens her. She only knows that he enjoyed making wood carvings. His eyes are gray and lifeless. His shirt is pulled up. Bethany can see the unnatural bent of his neck. She shuts the door.

Bethany looks around the humble room. There is a knife on the apprentice's desk, beside a wood carving of a halla half finished. She looks at it as Ser Bryant turns to her with a smile that says it has all been a misunderstanding. Another dead mage is just another dead mage. Bethany's hand is around the knife. A moment later it is buried in Ser Bryant's neck. His face goes purple. His legs weaken. He spits blood when he tries to speak. Bethany means to pull the knife away but she digs it in more viciously. She will not continue to lose students, companions, friends, so casually. She will no longer be complacent. She hisses at him more hatefully than she ever has: "You won't be alive to tell it but know now, before you die, that mages have no need of magic to raise up arms against you."

She yanks the knife back. Blood splashes onto her face. Then he falls to the floor to bleed out. Bethany steps over him as he twitches on the floor. She pulls his shirt down and closes the apprentice's eyes. She folds his arms carefully across his chest and pulls the blanket over his shoulders.

This is the second templar she's seen murdered in a matter of weeks, also killed for his abuses. She has never taken a life the normal way. She focuses on the task at hand. Her mind calms so she can do what she must. She can't pull him away from here. He's too heavy and she would easily be discovered. Bethany kneels painfully on the stone floor and presses her fingertips to his face. She keeps them there when his face begins to sizzle and blacken where her fingers touch. She persists as he scorches and continues until he is reduced to bone and embers. The stench is overwhelming. She regretfully cannot say that it is an unfamiliar odor. She cools the temperature of the room; it dampens some of the smell.

"Maker forgive me," she breathes and tries not to suffocate on his remains. Maybe mages are as frightening as people say. What's done is done. From this point forward, she will not bow to the influence of others—she must make her own path. If mistakes are made, she will learn from them. If the mistakes are too irreversible…then someone will stop her. At least, she hopes. She steps away from the thoughts; action is needed.

She moves automatically, lifting the desk chair and placing it beneath the high barred window. She can't make the armor disappear. The apprentice is dead. She slides the templar armor beneath his bed. The blame may fall to him, if it is discovered but at least he'll have been avenged. It isn't how she'd prefer to do it but war and tyranny aren't breeding grounds for ethics.

She collects what's left of Ser Bryant. Her fingers are stuffed to the quick with his still hot cinders. She slides her hand through the barred window and releases the ashes, letting the wind take him.

* * *

Bethany tells the First Enchanter everything. He listens with a sober expression on his face but he is not as troubled as she. It reassures her. "I'm glad you told me," he says. "You mustn't blame yourself. Mages are subject to innumerable injustices—that he met his end at the hands of a mage using unconventional methods would make a fine example for templars, if we could tell it, to warn them of hubris."

"It just felt wrong doing it that way. Hiding it. He killed that mage. He would have killed me." Would he? Or did she just jump to action without thinking? "I didn't do anything wrong." Didn't she? She's not sure. It's what Hawke would have done but she isn't her sister. She does not want to doubt herself. If she begins to doubt herself she'll begin to question so much more.

"It's the only way. You did the right thing. If the templar order worked as it claimed it wouldn't have been an issue to begin with. The sad truth is that sometimes we must pick up the most malignant and treacherous of weapons to defend ourselves—even if doing so splinters us in the process."

"I'd rather it not get to that," Bethany says.

"I'd rather there not be Circles and templars," Orsino says grimly. "We don't always get what we want."

* * *

Bethany stands before a classroom of her brightest students. She has seen them begin to wilt and fade. Orsino had told her how upset they had been when she hadn't been present for weeks of lessons. They had thought the worst. Despite her absence they had continued their work diligently and turned in the appropriate assignments which she now hands back to them.

"Not your best work. I know that you have been stressed and perhaps frightened by some of the events that have happened recently but I want to reassure you that there is still room for improvement if we are careful and continue to persevere," she says as she hands back the papers. She sees them looking at the front page for their grades and reading the small notes she made. She knows how long this typically takes them, long enough for her to pass the reports back and return to the front desk. "I know you may have questions but let's turn over to page two and read the prompt to ourselves."

Everyone turns the page at the same time creating a sharp spike in sound before it dies again. She is proud of how their faces remain composed.

_Not everyone escapes. I am an exception, not the rule. If they try to take you, fight back. Only death is certain if you do not. Magic is not your only weapon._

"Is everyone done?" She asks conversationally. They all respond with dull yes's. "Not your best work," she repeats again. "Now, do as I do." She sets the paper on fire in her hand. They repeat after her until their desks are topped with singed, scorched paper that soon crumples into black soot. "I don't want to ever see such subpar work again."

Bethany catches the eye of a templar that walk by the classroom. They stare at one another for a long time until he slowly turns away and keeps walking.

"Let's clean up," she says turning towards the board to begin making notes. "We have much to learn on Andraste and her betrayal by Mafareth if you want to be ready for the upcoming tests."

* * *

Cullen sits alone in the dining room. Bethany watches him from a distance. He is one of the few to believe in Meredith anymore. Bethany is no longer sure that she still does. She takes a seat across from him. He's surprised at her company but smiles all the same. For minutes they eat in silence as if their sitting together were only convenience. Then he asks how she's doing, given everything. "I'd expect someone in your position to be…bitter. You don't seem that way."

"I'm just good at hiding it," Bethany says with a faint smile. "Anyway… you must know what happens to mages who show their displeasure." Cullen frowns and grips his fork tightly. "When I was down there I saw and heard the most terrible things but there were other things. There was kindness down there." Yes, she saw those templars who brought food to the starving mages, she heard the gentle words of encouragement they whispered to some of the most unfortunate. Not all of the templars were that way but enough for her to maintain that there were still good men and women in the order.

"You shouldn't have written the letter."

"I didn't know our letters were being read." She did know. Orsino had told her. But the templars had denied that mail was being censored. "Anyway, there was never any proof."

"The Knight-Commander resolved the situation to your satisfaction, then?" Cullen sets his food aside and looks at her. Bethany doesn't know. "I know what the templars and mages say about her. They're out of line. I can't say that I've ever liked her… relationship with you, of whatever nature it may be, but tell me—what do you think of her? Sometimes I think I'm her only ally."

"I never wanted to sway her in any direction. I know some people have thought that. I thought her cause just. I thought her reasonable." She pauses. "I no longer think she's reasonable."

"Do you care about her?"

Bethany laughs mirthlessly. "I love her more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. That's about as dumb of a thing as I can say or do, isn't it?" She stares down at her plate of food and is so frustrated that she wants to fling it across the room and scream. She doesn't. What good would that accomplish? "You can love someone and still hate their actions."

Cullen reaches out a hand to cover her own briefly. "I loved a mage once. In the Ferelden Circle. I never acted on it. But it isn't as stupid or as uncommon as you think. For what it's worth…and I'll deny it if you ever repeat it—I think Meredith really cares for you. You'd be dead, if she didn't."

Bethany smiles, comforted. Cullen's hand lingers. Meredith watches.

* * *

Meredith dreams only in shards now. She sees the past, her own memories, her parents butchered by her sister. A sky raining down blood. She had cowered in a corner of the home and when she felt it was safe walked past her dead parents, stopping hesitantly to touch their faces, trying to wake them before knowing they would never wake again. She left little footsteps with their blood, her bread crumbs for the templars who would later find her. The screaming scared her more than whatever the cause for it was. Grown men and women did not make such noises. Nor did such torturous cries tend to stop so abruptly.

The ground was red clay. Meredith remembers saying her sister's name, knowing her sister was her sister, knowing it was a fiend masquerading as Amelia. She stretched a hand to her. Amelia had paused. Then the templars killed her and Meredith was taken to the chantry. There she learned of abominations and how they must be killed, whatever the cost.

Yes. She often dreams of that. When it isn't her past she dreams of, she dreams of the future, a nightmarish world where mages everywhere rise up against templars and even the templars forsake their duty to the Maker. A world where dark magic brings inanimate objects to life, to serve evil purposes. What could create such a world? Is it the work of the blood mages who have infested the Order? Every night she is awakened by dark visions. She is not always able to distinguish between what is real or what is a dream. She fights for breath in the dark and falls to her knees beside the bed, her hands chained together, begging the Maker for guidance, for clarity, for strength. The voices in the choir soar until she can no longer hear her own prayers.

She abandons the notion of sleep and rises, letting the robe she wears fall away and donning the armor of the Knight-Commander. She has a drink of lyrium and recovers her sword, running her fingers along the edge until it pulses for her. The Circle must be cleansed. First, she will issue an arrest warrant for that apostate Anders that the Champion runs with. Her allies cannot be stained with such filth at their side—it reflects badly upon Meredith to associate herself with such a person. Then, she will launch an investigation upon the Circle, it will be searched over piece by piece, no rock shall be left uncovered—if there are blood mages, if Orsino is harboring them and she suspects that he is, they will be found and destroyed. It is right to do this, it is her right to protect the city, the innocent mages, the templars from maleficarum.

She slides the sword onto her back and leaves her bedroom. She will tell Orsino the news—he will have to comply or be implicated in the deception. The mounted slaves on the wall all turn their heads as she passes them to follow her departure. Meredith recognizes their movement and is reminded. The magisters brought down the Tevinter emporium, she will not allow such a reckoning to occur in Kirkwall. Not on her watch.

* * *

"You cannot do this," Orsino says following after Meredith as she begins her walk to the Gallows. She had come to him while he met with Bethany in Lowtown to hand out papers that noted the penalties of harboring apostates as well as the rewards and promise of the Circle. Both of them had been startled to see her. Meredith had seen it as evidence of their guilt; even in doing the Maker's work they had ulterior motives, all of them, together, conspiring against her! Who knows what dark arts they practice in secret, away from her eyes? Who knows what men and women shield them? "We may have to live our lives at the Gallows but you cannot do as you please!"

"If you are truly not harboring any blood mages then you have nothing to fear from the templars conducting a search!" Meredith says making her way forward. She hates that it has come to this but she has been given a task, handed down to her by the Maker Himself and she will see to it that it is done.

"Maybe she's right," Bethany says trailing behind the two of them. "Won't it be easier to show her that we're innocent? She can't deny our innocence if she has nothing to show for our guilt. And if there are blood mages—it's best to be rid of them—"

"Hmph, I'm glad one of you has sense," Meredith says.

The First Enchanter ignores her and focuses on Bethany. "She isn't right," Orsino says, "don't you know by now that she will take any evidence she can to condemn us all!" He asks. "A strange letter, a rock she doesn't like the shape of, she will use it all to damn us! We cannot allow this, I will _not _allow this, Meredith!"

They continue arguing in this way until the Champion and her apostate Anders arrives. The arguing only ends when the Chantry is demolished. Meredith's eyes widen at the calamity. Elthina. Murdered at the hands of an apostate. There is no choice. She must invoke the Rite of Annulment. Every murdering mage will be executed. This tragedy will not be allowed to occur again.

* * *

Bethany watches in horror. How could Anders have done this? How could he have taken so many innocent lives? And now, her sister, debating which side to be on, debating whether it is perfectly fine to slay mages simply for being mages. Bethany's ill. She cannot listen. She goes to Meredith and takes her arm. Meredith's eyes seem to look right through her. "Don't do this, Meredith." Bethany's voice shakes. "I beg you. This isn't who you are. You're better than this. Think of your principles, think of your duty. You are not madness..!"

Meredith wrenches away from her. "I told you once that I would always do what is necessary, no matter how painful." Bethany's eyes widen as a beautiful memory is crushed at Meredith's heel. "This is necessary."

Bethany can't breathe. Hawke sides with the templars. Something about preventing mass casualties. Orsino takes her arm and yanks her after him after shouting at the other group of mages to slow Meredith, her sister, her old friends. He has to tug her to keep her moving. "We have to warn the others!"

Will Meredith kill her? Will Hawke kill her? How is this happening? _How is this happening?_ The question rings like a shrill scream in her head, over and over again.

* * *

Getting to the docks is an easy matter. The city is not yet on alert and the templars do not know to stop them. They hurry to the boat, gathering a few other mages urging the 'captain' to hurry them to the Gallows.

They run through the Circle, calling on all the mages to rally together. The mages step from their rooms, frightened and alarmed at the way the First Enchanter Orsino and Senior Enchanter Bethany cry out to them in a panic. "We are trapped here," Orsino says, "I will gather the prisoners below; I'm going to do what I should have done long ago and release them. We'll meet at the courtyard, Maker willing. I'm counting on you, Bethany." He goes.

Bethany doesn't get to say goodbye. She looks at the mages' and apprentices' faces, young and afraid looking to her for guidance. Bethany steels herself. "The chantry has been destroyed by an apostate mage." An old friend, Bethany thinks, who possibly killed Ella, whom she had once compared to her father… "The Knight-Commander has invoked the Rite of Annulment. The templars are coming to kill us all. With the Champion. Forget everything that you've been told for the last few years. This is _not _the will of the Maker. Genocide never is. We must fight back. We cannot hold anything back or we will all die here. I know you're afraid; I am too. But this is it. We are more equipped for battle than you know. Maker preserve us. They will be here soon."

And they are. Meredith and her sister arrive at the courtyard. It doesn't seem as if she and Orsino have gathered enough mages. The mages stand behind Bethany and Orsino as they go down the Gallow stairs to greet Meredith and the Champion. Once more Orsino tries to convince both of them to see reason and both times they fail to see it.

Orsino turns to walk back up the stairs. He will tell his disciples that it is time for war. Bethany stays too long. "How can you do this?" she asks. She isn't sure whom she means. Both answer.

"You may not see it, Bethany, but this is what's right."

"This is our duty to the city of Kirkwall."

Bethany hangs her head and goes. The women she's loved most have turned against her. But maybe they see it the other way. Maybe they think she's turned against them.

* * *

Meredith is vindicated. The Champion has sided with the templars; what better sign for all of Kirkwall to see that the Maker favors and blesses her? She speaks to the templars and the Champion. It is important that they know what it is that they go into, what it is that they must prepare for. It is a lesson that she too must learn and take to heart.

"Let me tell you what is about to happen. We have the unenviable task of entering the Gallows and eliminating every mage we find within. You must harden your heart. The magic within them is a disease that if left unchecked will spread and fester. We will do what we must. Maker have mercy on their souls."

Maker have mercy, most of all, on the soul of Bethany Hawke.

* * *

Bethany sits in the corner of the enclosed courtyard, shaking. There are bars everywhere ensuring that she does not forget that she is trapped. She does not know what it is that happened. They had fought back waves of templars. They had fought beside templar sympathizers. She had watched many Circle mages die under templar steel. She had prepared for that. She had not prepared for Orsino killing the remaining mages. The cobblestone is wet with their blood. She sees their eyes on her, accusatory. They think she let this happen. That she let him do this. She failed them. How is she alive? Did he miss her? Did he spare her?

Blood magic. The First Enchanter is a blood mage. What of her life in the Circle? Has all of it been a lie? Has she been a fool to trust anybody? Even herself? She takes little heed when Meredith and Hawke arrive. Let them kill her, then. Does it matter? Does any of it matter anymore? She only rouses when Orsino confesses, unrepentantly to having aided Quentin, to admiring his methods. The man who murdered her mother. Bethany stands. Hawke and Meredith vow to put an end to his evil but so help her, she will aid them kill the man herself.

She watches as he pulls the bodies to him, they slide across the floor, lifeless and wrap around him like a flesh shield, until he is transformed into something she has not known, has only ever heard of, a Harvester. She breathes the Maker's name but wonders what it matters, when her persecutors pray to the same name.

They all work together to defeat him. Bethany watches as Hawke stomps any life that's left of him away. Bethany goes to the hideous mound of flesh that's left and loses all feeling in her legs. She falls before him, agonized and tearful. How? "I don't believe it. How could you do this?" Why speak to him? He can't respond.

She hears Meredith speak behind her, confident and calm. "Such is the curse that you carry. Difficult as it may be to accept."

Had he always been this way? Or was it Meredith? Was it the fear? Is this what drives all blood mages? Could Bethany curse them for wanting to live? Hadn't he told her that to survive they must pick up the most terrible of weapons? Oh, Maker… "You," Bethany turns to look at her with angry eyes and getting to her feet. How had she been so stupid for so many years? How had she doubted Orsino and believed so ardently in Meredith? When had she lost Meredith? Had she ever had her? What of Orsino? Nothing makes any sense. "Your insanity drove him to this."

"I will not argue with you, Mage, my purpose here is clear."

Bethany stalks to her, anguished. She barely has any words. Meredith's face, wet with Orsino's blood, is unapologetic. She speaks to her as if she were any other person. Has it come to this? Are they just templar and mage now? After so many years? "And I'm just one more abomination to be dealt with?" Her voice is raw. She looks at Hawke and then back to Meredith. "Yes. I see what comes next."

Meredith's face hardens and she moves closer.

Hawke steps forward. "Not her." She lifts an arm to shield Bethany. "I did as you asked. My sister is innocent. Leave her out of it."

Bethany shakes with anger. "I am no more innocent than all the mages you killed to get here! Go ahead, Meredith! Finish it! It's what you want, isn't it?"

Meredith's expression blankets into nothing.

"What are you doing Bethany?" Hawke asks sharp and bewildered. "Have you gone mad? It's a good thing you're pretty." She looks at Meredith. "You'll keep away from her."

Meredith offers a conciliatory smile. "Have it your way, then. I will meet you in the courtyard, Champion."

Bethany watches her go with a grieved heart, followed by a small group of templars. She is tired. Is it over then? Is it over at last? She looks at Hawke who has the good grace to look guilty. "I was never going to let them hurt you, Bethany. Look, it's over now. You're safe."

"Safe from what?" She would never be safe again, not from anything. Everything and everyone she has known for the last part of her life is dead. Everything she thought she knew has been undone. Who was Orsino? Who is Meredith? Who is Hawke? Who is she? What will she become?

* * *

Meredith returns to the courtyard. "The Champion cannot be trusted," she says to Cullen who looks at her with questioning eyes. She looks at the other templars. They look like empty tin cans, empty ghost suits. Why can't she see their eyes? And those other templars without helmets whose eyes she can see, why do they look at her in that way? Has it happened at last? No, Maker, no, she thought she had eliminated them all, save for Bethany Hawke. Has her influence, has the influence of Orsino already contaminated her most righteous holy order? Oh, Maker, no. Please, no, Maker, there is only so much she can suffer; there is only so much of herself that she can give. "She has worked with rebel mages for far too long—she cannot be left unchecked. She will be arrested, do you understand?"

Cullen hesitates before bowing his head and saluting her. "As you say, Knight-Commander."

She looks at all of the templars. Why do they look at her that way? Why is their gaze so empty? Is it because they have nothing of the Maker in them? Are they soulless shells? Are the abominations waiting to happen? She has already lost Bethany Hawke, must she lose the order as well?

Why do they look at her that way? "Turn away," she whispers. Cullen asks her to repeat herself. She doesn't.

* * *

Bethany can't say she's surprised when Meredith turns against Hawke. It is just another crippling blow that she must take. Hawke is irritated at Meredith's plan to execute her. "You're surprised that she turned against you?" Bethany asks Hawke after Hawke's done making her smart remark. "She turned against me."

Hawke laughs dryly. "Don't be daft, Bethany. You're a mage; she was never with you to begin with."

The words cut deep.

Even Cullen has turned against her. All of them have been taken by blood magic! Why else would they defy her and the will of the Maker Himself? How it pains her to be in this position, to have to destroy the order she has so loved, to have to rid the world of the Champion who could have redeemed it and restored it to the Maker if she had not been blighted by that cursed magic. And Bethany, dear Bethany with her wide, hurt eyes. More than that, there is pity and concern. Why? Is she not the one who will soon perish?

"I don't need any of you!" Meredith says, "I will protect this city myself!"

She brandishes the lyrium sword. No, she cannot let her feelings intrude, she will not allow the magisters to reign again, she will not let them take Kirkwall, she will not let them. How has it taken her so long to see? Their eyes are black and soulless, except those apostates' eyes which are an inky red, fueled by blood, eager to deliver the world to demons! The situation is dire and she sees them readying, they want to strike her down, they want to destroy her and through her the Maker—they have already taken Elthina and the Chantry. She will let them have no more. They try to cast doubt at her, they imply that she is the one who has gone mad! How preposterous! She has taken lyrium all her years in the templar order, it is the only thing that has allowed her to fight their corruption and now, her blade, crafted from the lyrium idol will allow her to finish them.

Meredith stabs her sword into the ground, crushing it beneath her. The sword glows and pulses. Yes. The Maker is with her. "Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"

She attacks.

* * *

Bethany remembers Orsino's words. How Meredith would use her enviable swordwork to cut down her companions—maybe he got some things right after all. But so did Meredith. Meredith had accused him of blood magic throughout the years. Does it matter to be right when you are right about such terrible things?

Hawke and the others go on the offense. Meredith moves so quickly that Bethany can scarcely keep up with her. She lifts her staff but cannot cast a spell. She sees Varric hurled backward before he groggily rises to his feet. "You gonna get in on the action any time soon, Sunshine?"

Bethany can't smile. Her fingers are closed tightly around the staff. Why is this so difficult? She must do what she can. The words are still fresh in her mind when Meredith comes upon her and fiercely seizes her face, her fingers digging in. Bethany heaves for breath, she sees Meredith lift her sword, ready to impale her. Her blue eyes, wild like lightning, settle onto Bethany's and calm until they soothe into the color of the ocean. Bethany whispers her name. She touches her face. For an instant Meredith looks at her.

The next second Bethany is cast aside. She collides violently into a pillar, the breath knocked away from her. Cullen is at her side, securing a hand around her arm and pulling her to her feet. "Are you all right?"

She lies with a nod.

* * *

They are strong. Why are they so strong? How have they not fallen? Meredith gasps for breath. Her armor is covered in their blood but they remain standing. She is strong but she must be stronger. She did not kill the blood mage Bethany, she let her live, this weakness will lead to the falling of Kirkwall. She draws breath into her lungs and can feel the blood along her throat. She does not know how her eyes glow red. Only the Maker can help her now, only she and the Maker stand in the way of Kirkwall's defeat. Fiery lightning crackles around her.

"Maker! Your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!"

She leaps backward, moving like a God. She stabs the sword into the ground sending shockwaves of lyrium across the Gallows. The statues of the Gate Guardians and the slaves come to life. She laughs. Oh yes. Elthina will be avenged, this evil will be righted. Who can argue that the Maker isn't with her? Who could deny that this is His will?

* * *

The statues creak to life. Bethany never imagined she would see such a terrible thing happen. She is paralyzed before she lifts her staff. The statues are massive but they give her something to fight, something lifeless that should not be in existence. They are easy targets and she hesitates no more.

Meredith will occasionally creep into the foray, unrelenting as she attacks anyone in her path. Hawke gives her a look that says 'be strong'. She tries to be strong. Bethany casts the appropriate healing spells when she sees broken noses and fingers but the battle is long and Meredith keeps summoning statues. Meredith has not come after her again. Bethany tells herself it doesn't mean anything; another lie.

An inconvenient truth is sinking into Bethany like a boulder at the pit of her stomach, weighing her down. She or Meredith will die. At this point, she is not sure which she'd prefer, a solitary opinion she is sure.

* * *

They still stand. Meredith does not understand. The will of the Maker cannot be felled by a mere human. The Maker cannot be defeated by apostates! It goes against everything He stands for. But now, she sees the statues, moving and bending in their metal frames, what foul thing is this? Where have they come from? Who brought them to life?

The sword? Her? No. No, it cannot be. She looks around her; they are all engaged in fighting the monstrous statues, brought to life by what magic? That is not the magic of the Maker. There is no magic of the Maker. She sees Bethany, frozen in time, looking over at her, questioning. She thinks of the woman throughout the years, she thinks of their conversations and their mutual respect, they had loved one another hadn't they? Bethany had stood beside her when others had left her and Meredith had defended her when the order dictated that she be ended. Are they against one another now? How does she live? How does the Champion still live, how do they all live?

She brings a hand to her forehead and stumbles. "Why is this taking so long?" She asks no one in particular. Perhaps the Maker can grant her answers. "Can one so evil truly be so powerful? Maker, guide your servant. Please, tell me what I must do! What if… I'm not doing the right thing? What if this is all madness?..." Is she mad? They've been whispering it for years, haven't they? Since when? Since she claimed the sword? No, this is more treachery, this is more blood magic, more games. She will not fall to it. She will not fail. "No!" She curses the thoughts. "I must remain vigilant!"

She fights but she is weakening. They are all on her now. All of them except for Bethany who stands frozen at some distance with tear filled eyes. She cannot lose. She will not lose. She will not let Kirkwall fall. Not to this, not to their evil.

She reels back, finding an opening, escaping them. "I will not be defeated!" She lifts the lyrium sword. She is so tired. She is so very tired. Maker give her strength. Oh Maker, bless her. Oh Maker, keep her, guide her, help her. "Maker! Aid your humble servant!"

A red bolt of lightning flashes down, the hand of the Maker has touched her. Her body trembles and courses with energy. She is filled by the light of the Maker as he moves through her. Then something goes wrong. It is hot. Too hot. It is like fire in her veins.

Before it takes her, she realizes she was wrong. As it takes her, she thinks of Bethany.

* * *

Bethany watches horrified. Lyrium splatters and melts. Meredith's harrowing screams will haunt her for the rest of her days. The hot metal courses over Meredith, consuming her inside and out. She screams. She burns. Tears fall from Bethany's face though she does not know it.

Soon all that's left is a red, burning shell, prostrate on its knees, its mouth opened in agony. Bethany's chin quivers. She can't hold back a sob.

Luckily no one pays attention to her.

A templar goes to Meredith, tries to touch—doesn't dare. Retrieves her hand.

Bethany stares at all that remains of Meredith. Everything that was for the majority of the past ten years of her life. She sees it smoking and dead, no more.

The templars all kneel to Hawke. Bethany doesn't know what that means. She can't take her eyes away from Meredith's ghoulish remains. But she knows that she must look away.

Look away, Bethany, look away.

She looks away.


End file.
